


The First Witness

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adoption, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Foster Care, Gen, Henry Lauren's A+ parenting, Homophobia, M/M, also he's dead if that bothers you at all....., more characters/ships to be announced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7083601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>26 year old Alexander Hamilton is a promising young defense lawyer, running a law firm with Burr and taking on pro bono cases in his spare time.</p><p>19 year old John Laurens was just arrested for murdering his own father. While the prosecution claims he's a spoiled psychopath, John maintains that it was the only defense left after a lifetime of abuse - Henry Laurens' will had nothing to do with it. </p><p>With the DA breathing down his neck, Alex has precious little time to get a case together to try and save the boy he's come to believe is telling the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pro Bono

**Author's Note:**

> Is this going to be a thing? This might very well be a thing.  
> This is a backburning project and updates about once a month, but will be completed.
> 
> Written for this prompt [here](http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/137293535333/alexander-hamilton-is-one-of-the-best-defense)  
> (If the original prompter has suggestions for ships they can drop me a line otherwise I will go with what feels natural)

“Alexander!” 

Alex looked up reluctantly from his law brief. “Aaron Burr, sir. What do you want?”

“I have our next pro bono,” Burr announced triumphantly, dropping a thick stack of paper onto the desk. His enthusiasm immediately made Alexander lift an eyebrow- Burr had always said he hated that Alex took so many cases for free, that he was wearing himself out and taking time away from the cases that kept their small firm open.

It didn’t matter to Alex. What was one more hour’s sleep instead of arguing for a payable bail? What was another hour with his wife, even, when there were injustices to be corrected? He was aware, internally, that trying to fix each individual mistake in the justice system was an unwinnable course of action.

It just wasn’t enough to stop him from trying anyway.

Frowning at the smug grin on his partner’s face, Alex picked up the top page and scanned it.

John Laurens, age 19. Charged with assault and murder of the first degree. The victim: his father, the absurdly wealthy Henry Laurens. 

Alex’s eyes widened. “This is Henry Laurens’ eldest son?” he asked.

“Yes.” Burr, ever grave, nodded sagely. “Old Henry Laurens dropped dead of an arsenic dose large enough to kill an elephant. They arrested his son immediately, the kid was home on spring break. Apparently he all but confessed, then stopped talking altogether.”

Henry Laurens. At Columbia, Alex had spent every evening in the Laurens wing of the library, paging through books paid for by the man who was one of the most successful supreme court judges of the decade. And fabulously wealthy to boot, thanks to his large agricultural holdings. “Burr. This is hardly pro bono. The kid’s probably got more money than you do.”

“Ah!” Burr held up a finger. “Not if he’s written out of the will. The prosecution is claiming Henry altered his will a few days before his death to remove any traces of his charming son. They’re calling it a revenge killing for robbing him of millions in inheritance.”

“Still,” Alex said. “Pro bono is for…. the underprivileged. The kids who look like us getting stopped and frisked on their way home from Wal-Mart. We stop the state from taking their lives away.”

“And his life is worth less?” Burr rummaged quickly through the papers, until he could pull out a photograph. The boy, presumably John Laurens, stared out at the camera without smiling. Alex noted both his rich-boy clothes and the darkness of his skin, the contrast between his spray of freckles and his dark curls of hair. “He’s just as brown as those kids you defend, Alexander, and he’s got no money now. If he has a public defender the courts will crucify him.”

“And the added publicity from such a case, that has nothing to do with it?” 

“It’s a factor,” Burr admitted, “But not the only one. He needs our help, we need his publicity, everyone wins. And,” he added, seeing the look on Hamilton’s face, “I’ll take over the Lee case for you. You never have to talk to him again.”

“Fine!” Alex threw his arms up. “We’ll go see the kid. He may not even want us you know.”

“Oh he will,” Burr smiled, silky and ever so threatening. It was his court smile. “You’re very convincing.”


	2. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Burr talk to John Laurens, but find things aren't quite adding up.  
> They also meet their prosecution  
> (Chapter contains several descriptions of physical child abuse)

Based on the picture he'd seen, Alexander was expecting certain things from John Laurens. A posh, rich boy attitude for one. A well put-together look, an easy charm, the same silky sort of smile Burr wore when networking. The kind that said _you have no idea who I really am, let's laugh along and pretend to be friends._

He wasn't expecting this: lank, dark curls just brushing his shoulders. A bruise on his cheek, a black eye, and a split lip. Wild eyes that glared mistrustful across the table as they walked in. He was still wearing handcuffs.

"Uncuff my client please," Alex said immediately. He'd found it to be a good way to gain a client's trust, positioning himself on their side against the institution. Besides, the jail's cuff rules were ridiculous. "He's harmless, for god's sake, look at him."

"He killed his father," the cop said, before giving a small shrug and complying. "Your funeral." The boy jerked away as the cop approached, then held out his hands mechanically.

As the cuffs fell away Burr said, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Aaron Burr and this is Alexander Hamilton, we'll be representing you. If you have any questions-"

"You're young," he said. Somehow Alex had been expecting his voice to be raspy, to better fit with the image of a wild animal he gave off. But no, his voice was quiet and even.

Burr said, "That's not a question."

Alex held of a hand. "Both of us are graduates. I have a masters in human rights, Burr has one in public policy. Both of us have graduated law school top of the class and passed the bar. We're as qualified to defend you as anyone else."

John Laurens didn't speak. _Great,_ his eyes seemed to say. _That is clearly information I care about. And it doesn't make me trust you any more._

"Today we're here to review your case," Burr carried on as if nothing had been said. "Both to prepare for your arraignment and to start working on your defense. I'll start by reminding you of attorney-client privileges, anything you say-"

"-You can't tell anyone else," John cut him off. "Get on with it. What do you need from me?"

"An alibi would be a good start," Alex offered.

"I did it."

Alex opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Burr seemed in a similar state, struggling to find something to say. Finally he came up with, "Why don't you start at the beginning? Give us a timeline of events."

John sighed, closing his eyes. Without their sharp glare he finally looked like the kid he was as he recited: "I came home for the week of spring break because I wanted to see my siblings. On the 15th, I guess. On the 18th I told Martha to take the younger three upstairs and keep them there, she knew enough to listen to me. Then I went downstairs and made tea. I put arsenic in it. The old bastard drank it and he died. I waited until I knew for sure he was dead, and then I called the police."

 _Jesus Christ_. Alex had seen a lot in the few short years he’d spent as a lawyer. But nothing had prepared him for the coldness in a John Laurens’ voice as he’d said _I waited until I knew for sure he was dead._

“Where did you get the arsenic, out of curiosity?” Burr asked, voice even. “Possession of a controlled substance is on your list of charges, along with assault for an incident with your father a few days ago.”

“A friend,” John said shortly. “You don’t need to know more than that. They’re not- they didn’t know what I was going to do with it.”

“Your friend gave you arsenic and didn’t know what you were going to do with it?” Alex broke in, unable to help himself. “What did he think, you wanted it for a science fair?”

“You use arsenic in wood preservation, I showed them a google page about it and they thought I wanting to make something while I was at home.”

“So you planned this from when you were at university?” Alex asked.

“I’ve been planning this since I was twelve.”

And the conversation stopped again.

In the silence, Burr said "Where did you get those injuries, John? Were you attacked?"

John's mouth twitched. He pointed to the bruising on his cheek and eye, "Scuffle with some of my fellow inmates, and," he touched the split lip, "that was from my father."

"So you did fight with him?" Burr pressed on, "Three days before, there were people who've said they heard the two of you shouting in the backyard."

"So Martha and the younger ones wouldn't hear," John nodded.

"And what did you fight about?" No reply. "John, it could be very important in creating your defense-"

"I told him I was gay and having sex with someone- with a man." Alex narrowed his eyes at the mid-sentence correction, and he tried to fill in the blank.

"With someone your father wouldn't have approved of?"

"You could say that, sure."

"And while you were arguing, your father hit you?"

"Yeah. Back of his hand, like a good upstanding Christian. Didn't seem to like it when I didn't offer him up the other side of my face."

"Has he hit you before? John?"

"Yes."

"Frequently?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It helps us establish the situation," Alex said. He assumed the answer was _yes_ , considering how John's breathing had picked up and his hands clenched.

"Once or twice a week. Not hard, just a smack, especially as I got older. Maybe once a month for harder stuff."

Alex was saved from asking what _harder stuff_ entailed by Burr's question.

"Did he ever hit your siblings?"

John's voice was steel. "He hit Martha when I was nine. I made sure he wouldn't hit her again."

"And how did you do that?"

No reply, not even when Burr prompted him again with, "John, how did you stop your father?” Burr pressed on with, “Did you get him to hit you instead? Older siblings frequently take on a protector role-"

That got a reaction. "Shut up,” John snapped, “Shut the hell up. You don't know anything. I'm done talking about this." And he shoved himself away from the desk, chair scraping against the floor.

"Alright. We can be done for the day," Alex said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. _But we're going to have to talk about it sooner or later._ They had to establish motive and reasoning. Sons didn't just up and kill their fathers for the hell of it.

He continued, "This is what's going to happen next. You're going to go in front of a judge tomorrow for the bail hearing. You may or may not make bail-” He looked over at Burr.

"Decent chance," Burr said. "You're not really a danger to the community, considering how targeted the attack was. And you're clearly not a flight risk, as you called the police yourself. A bail hearing, and then probably two weeks later the arraignment. That’s when you have to state how you’re pleading. Do you know how you want to plead?"

John just looked confused. "I did it. They know I did it."

Alex offered, "Even if you're guilty, it's worth entering a not-guilty plea. Makes it more likely they'll offer you a plea bargain, give you less time." Though that probably wouldn't be likely for the killer of Henry Laurens. "It's also," He added hesitantly, "A good way of lengthening the trial process, and keeping you out of prison for as long as possible. Months, even.” If John was going to prison for the rest of his life, there was certainly value in letting him spend a few months outside of jail. “It could give you a chance to say goodbye.”

Finally he got a reaction that wasn’t resentment, silence, or anger. Just a sad, searching look that faded into acceptance. “A few months? Yeah. That would be good. Say goodbye to people.”

He was still smiling faintly as the guards escorted Alex and Burr outside.

Alex blinked in the suddenly sunlight outside the jail, wasting no time before jumping straight into a discussion. “We can work with this at least. It’s not a lot, but we can use the hitting against the assault charge even if we can’t use it against the murder itself. Can we review the 911 call? See if he actually admitted to doing it, or just that his father was dead. It would be a hard sell, I know, but an alternate suspect is always-”

“Alexander.” Burr rubbed his temples. “Please, for once in your life, be quiet.”

“Why?”

Burr took a deep breath. “It is a little disconcerting,” he said slowly, “that you immediately follow up a disclosure of child abuse with _how great this will be for your law case_.”

“His law case, not mine-”

“-That wasn't my point Alexander.”

“-And excuse me for thinking about practical solutions!” Alex huffed. “In case you’ve forgotten, Burr, we’re his lawyers. We’re supposed to be getting him off.”

“Well if it isn’t my favorite lawyers.”

“Jefferson,” Alex spat the name, turning to regard the man coming up the steps as they went down. For some reason Jefferson had chosen a magenta suit today, and the very sight of it was giving Alex a headache. “I thought you were in France.”

“Vacation cut short, was needed here.” Jefferson flashed a toothy grin. “Big murder trial, Henry Laurens popped off by his sociopathic son-”

“-He’s not sociopathic-” Burr said, at the same time Alex said “You’re the prosecution?!”

“Yep.” Jefferson popped the P, still grinning. “Don’t tell me you’re his defense?” Neither said anything. His smile grew. “Oh excellent. This is going to be _good._ I know you like to rescue the poor and downtrodden, but this kid’s a basket case. Murdered his father in cold blood, _stood there and watched him die_ , and then called the police on himself. He’s got a record a mile long - petty theft, breaking and entering, assault - all the markings of a criminal. It’s only his money that’s gotten him off for this long, money and his father’s name.” Jefferson took a step towards them, his sharp eyes missing nothing, “Speaking of - now that he doesn’t have either, how has he retaining the services of two fine lawyers such as yourselves?”

“Pro bono,” Hamilton gritted out. God, he hated Jefferson. “I look forward to seeing you on the floor, Thomas. We’ll see just how guilty my client is, there’s enough that’s been covered up here-”

“Alexander,” Burr warned, and Alex fell silent. _Don’t give away your strategy to the other side!_ He may have already said too much. “We look forward to seeing you in court, Thomas. Have a nice day.”

“This isn’t a battle you’re going to win, boys,” Jefferson called after them. “The kid’s a spoiled, narcissistic sociopath. You’re better off staying away from the whole thing.”

“Jefferson’s a snake, but you need to keep your head in the game,” Burr growled as they got into the car. 

“Don’t talk to Jefferson, don’t talk about the case at all, don’t start working on mounting a legal defense for our client because someone had the nerve to _hit him_ once in his life-”

“I can’t believe you,” Burr snapped. “It’s child abuse.”

“Says someone who’s never dealt with it, to someone who has.” Alexander shot back. “Foster parents, but they still count. It’s fine, you learn to deal.” He say the look on Burr’s face and amended, “I’d rather look at practical solutions than things that can’t be changed, alright?” 

Besides, if he was being honestly with himself he didn’t want to talk about his history. Not out in public, even in the relative safety of a car. Eight years after aging out of the system and he still felt a twinge in his gut every time he said the words _foster parents_ out loud. They had a remarkable way of invalidating everything he’d managed to do with his life. _Look how far he’s come without parents! Marvel at the misfortunes of his life! Alexander Hamilton: Foster Child!_

It wasn’t something he wanted. So aside from the people he’d known when he entered law school - The Schuylers, Burr, and Madison - he kept that part of his history quiet.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed, not really. He just didn’t want to deal with it.

“His dad’s a right piece of work,” Alex offered, as close to an apology as he ever got. “Not that we didn’t know that, of course, from his record of ruling against human rights, but-”

“Yeah.” Burr nodded. 

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Alexander mused. “He’s too cagey. You’d think, if you were staring down 25-to-life, you’d tell your lawyer everything.”

“It might be he’s just reserved.”

“Or covering up something else.”

“Alexander...”

“You have to admit,” he said stubbornly, “It’s a possibility.”

Burr said nothing for the rest of their short drive. But as they pulled into the parking lot of the building that housed _Hamilton & Burr_ he said, “He seems like someone who’s used to keeping secrets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal stuff is as accurate as I can make it, but I'm a social worker and not a lawyer.
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/), come talk about Hamilton with me.


	3. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Burr interview John's sister Martha, offering some perspective on their case.  
> Eliza wants something Alex isn't sure they're ready for (And for him to finally take a break and spend time with her)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General psa that views of the characters are not the views of the author (Aka I do not condone Alex being a douche)
> 
> Chapter contains slightly more graphic (And severe) descriptions of physical child abuse and accidental outing of a gay character

"Alexander!" his wife's voice trilled as soon as he walked in the door. "You're home late, I waited for supper so we can have it together."

"You didn't have to do that." He shrugged out of his coat, realised the hooks beside the door were full, and dropped it on the floor. Then he wrapped his arms around the petite woman who came to greet him. "My angel."

"Your angel of mediocre pasta dishes." Eliza accepted his kiss before pulling away and heading into the kitchen. "It'll just be a minute, sit down."

"My angel of sustenance," he disagreed with a grin. "Lord, it's been a day, Burr's been on my case about everything, and now I have to deal with Jefferson-"

"Jefferson?" Her eyes narrowed. "Isn't he in France for a year? 'Learning about the culture' or something, I see the obnoxious statuses every time Angelica opens her facebook."

Alex made a face. "He's come back _just_ to be a pain for me, personally. We took on a new pro bono case and he's the prosecution."

"What case?" It never failed to impress him how fast Eliza's mind worked. He could see the wheels turning in her head: the hours he would have to pull to take a big case to trial, the added stress, the fact that they wouldn’t see any money from this work. Then the razor sharp look in her eyes faded to something much softer as she spoke. "Is it another domestic abuse case?"

"No. Sort of? It's a little more complicated. You know Henry Laurens?"

"Supreme court judge, central figure to many of your what's-wrong-in-America-today rants?"

"Look, he is pro-guns, pro-segregation, anti-gay marriage, anti _anything_ that would bring this country into the current century-" Alex stopped, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, him. He was murdered in the early hours of yesterday morning by his eldest son."

"Oh, goodness." Eliza raised a hand to her mouth. "Why?"

"That's the part we don't know yet." He started to pace beside the boiling pasta, thinking hard. "He says he was being abused, but... god, Betsey, if you heard the way he talked about it... the prosecution's calling him a psychopath, and it's not going to be a hard sell. _I'm_ starting to wonder. It takes a lot for a kid to kill their parent."

"I can't even imagine." She plated their supper as he finished filling her in about the case, about Burr, about all the little troubles and successes that happened in the day. And in return she told him about the adventures of the kids at the orphanage she volunteered at, coaxing a laugh out of him with a story about three kids and a frog.

"Speaking of..." She dropped a piece of paper in front of him. _Graham Windham Orphanage_ was at the top, and it seemed to be a form. 

"Betsey, what's this? You need weekend volunteers again?" He'd liked that, spending a weekend with a bunch of kids and coaching them in various subjects. They were a good bunch.

"No," She fidgeted, suddenly looking nervous. "This is something else. Something we've been talking about for a while? Just read it."

He did, scanning the page. _Adoption Application. Please state the following: Name, Preferred Title, Age, Occupation_ , "Eliza-"

"Just read it!" She grabbed his hand. "Read it, read the material, and see what you think. We can really make a difference, a true difference, in someone's life."

Alex gave her a look. "We are not prepared to deal with a foster kid." He should know, he'd been one. So had Eliza, but for a grand total of 36 hours instead of the six years he'd spent bouncing from one home to another. "I grew up with foster kids, Eliza. We're not ready."

He kissed her hand, as if in apology, and her frown twisted into a slight smile. "I love you, but it's just not in the cards right now. Maybe in a few years, when we're better off, better able to handle things-" When he could talk about his history without being judged for it, when he was so successful that no one _cared_ where he came from or where their child came from, when _adopted by Alexander Hamilton_ was the only ticket their child needed for success. "Someday. But not yet."

"Fine." Her eyes dropped, then brightened again. "Won't you come to bed at least? It's late."

"I have work to do."

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, voice ringing softly in his ear. "The work can wait. Come upstairs with me."

"I have to finish this." Had to be successful. They had a new case, after all. He was going up against Jefferson. He couldn’t afford to lose this one.

Eliza unwound her arms from him slowly, disappointment written all over her face. He knew that look well enough. "Alright. I know you're busy." _Too busy to make love to your wife, Hamilton, disappointing the woman who loves you._ He could read her thoughts loud and clear.

"I'm trying." He said. _I'm trying my best. I have to be successful. I have to be._

"I know." She kissed the top of his head. "If you change your mind, I'll be upstairs, okay? Don't stay up too late."

"I won't." Just a few more hours. He kissed the back of her hand, then her shoulder, then her mouth. "My angel." And then he settled down in the study with a box of files and got to work.

 

The next morning, on their lunch break, Alex and Burr drove to visit the Laurens house. 

Alex was fuming. "If Clinton thinks this ridiculous libel suit is going to get him what he wants, he's got another thing coming to him. It's all true."

"I know that," Burr said patiently, "but I'm not the one you have to convince. Save it for court."

"It's just ridiculous-" And on he went as they inched their way through New York traffic before pulling up to a beautiful apartment building. The kind of building that reminded Alex why New York was considered both one of the greatest cities in the world and one of the most expensive.

"I thought they lived in a house? In Brooklyn or something?"

"Apparently they own the apartment, too. I can understand not wanting to stay in the house your father was murdered in, can’t you?"

"I do," Alex agreed. "Has she made a statement? The sister?" Either for or against, it would give them an idea of what they were walking in to. Hostile witnesses made things harder.

"Not that I'm aware. And Alex?" Burr said, as he parked smoothly, "She has a dead father and a brother in jail. Please try and be tactful."

"I'm always tactful, I'm just honest in my tact."

The front was all done up in marble, with a doorman waiting at the entrance. "Can I help you, sirs?"

"We're here to talk to," Burr consulted his paper, "Ms Martha Laurens."

"Ms Laurens isn't accepting visitors or solicitors at the moment, sir."

"We're Mr Laurens' lawyers,” Alex broke in. "John Laurens, her brother, not her dad's lawyers."

"One moment then." He motioned them inside the lobby, and made his way over to the telephone. Alex could hear a smattering of the conversation: _Mr Laurens' lawyers - no ma'am, John's lawyers - alright ma'am. I'll let them know_.

"Ms Laurens will see you," the doorman said, waving a hand towards the elevators. "Twentieth floor."

"What apartment?" Alex asked.

The doorman gave him an odd look. "The apartment on the twentieth floor."

"...Right." And sure enough, upon entering the elevator there was a button marked only "P" instead of "20".

"It's a penthouse," Burr said, as they rode up. "The whole floor."

"I know what a penthouse is, thank you Aaron." He just didn't think they still existed nowadays.

A woman, presumably Martha Laurens, opened the door. She had the same curly hair, dark freckled skin, and look of wariness about her that John had. They must have only been a year or two apart in age. "They said you were John's lawyers."

"We are, ma'am." Burr handed her a copy of the basic contract John had signed before their interview yesterday. "I'm Aaron Burr and this is my colleague Alexander Hamilton. We're going to do everything in our power to help your brother."

"Oh thank god." And she led them inside. It was even grander than Alexander had pictured - was that a real fountain in the living room? - and he walked through with some trepidation. Martha was chattering away, "We've had to move back into the apartment because of all the reporters, the doorman's been a godsend in keeping people away. I don't want anything more in the papers than what they've already got."

"Very wise." Burr nodded.

Alex frowned, thoughtful. "I have some contacts in media. I can see if I can get them off the story. It's certainly juicy, but with a lack of details they're going to run out of stuff to print. Push it to a page-three sidebar instead of a cover."

"Anything you could do, we’d be thankful." Martha nodded through the doorway, where Alex could see two young boys sitting on the sofa and watching television in the next room. They looked to be about eight or nine. "Those are James and Henry Jr. Mary's around here somewhere too, she's five."

"Is their mother around?" Alex couldn't help himself asking.

"I'm eighteen." Martha drew herself up to full height - which, unfortunately, was still shorter than Alex. "I am their legal guardian. Their mother hasn't had custody since after Mary was born, they don't see her. And, with John-” She stuttered to a stop, took a deep breath, and continued. “I have full control of my late father's estate until my half-siblings come of age."

"Half siblings?"

"My mother died when I was eight. My father remarried, Hen, Jem and Mary are their children."

John would have been nine then when his mother died. That was also, if Alex remembered correctly, about the time he said Henry Laurens started hitting his children. "Ms Laurens, we need to talk to you about some very unpleasant things-"

"I know. God, I know. But not here." She looked over at the boys in front of the television. "Come with me."

She led them through the opulent house, not to an office like Alex was expecting but to a bedroom. A mural of wild horses danced along one long wall, and the windows showed the cityscape of Manhattan. There was a set of lounge chairs and a coffee table before the canopied bed.

Alex was fairly sure Martha Laurens' bedroom was larger than the entire house he grew up in.

She sank down on the edge of the bed, motioning the lawyers towards the chairs. "It's been so hard. I don't- I haven't been able to sleep. All I can think about is him _dying_ while I was upstairs with the kids. I didn't hear a thing. And now he's gone and John-" 

She closed her eyes, fighting for composure, and said, “I’ve already lost my father. I don’t want to lose my brother too. I just want him home safe.”

"We appreciate your willingness to see us, Ms Laurens," Burr started, ever the diplomat. Alex was more than willing to let him take the lead. "I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you. As you know, it is our job to try and help John as best we can-"

"Please," She cut him off. "John's not... what they're saying about him in the papers. He's _not_."

This, Alex was more familiar with. "Ms Laurens-"

"Martha, please."

"Martha, you do understand that John does not dispute that he was the one to put arsenic in your father's tea that night?"

"I know." A tear rolled down her cheek; otherwise, she stayed perfectly composed. "Dad and John hated each other. They always did, dad could get awful when he drank and he took it out on John whenever he could. Especially after our mom died."

"Awful how?" _Careful, draw it out_. They couldn't be contaminating a witness – he wanted any testimony about abuse to come directly from Martha without prompting.

She sniffled. "Hit him, mostly. There would be bruises - black eyes and things. I don't think he wanted me to know about it, or how bad it was, you know? I saw dad hit him with the end of a garden hose one night. It was awful, and he never said anything about it after."

"And you never called the police?" Alex asked, ignoring the glare Burr shot his way. _I'm not leading_. They had to establish what happened.

"No." The ghost of a smile crossed her lips, sad and resigned. "Who would believe it? Henry Laurens. And John would never talk, I think he-" She swallowed. "I think he was scared of what dad would do if he told. You know?"

"We understand." Burr shuffled the papers in front of him, a copy of the notes they'd taken after interviewing John. "And may I say again, I cannot imagine how you must be feeling. If there's anything-"

"Bring John home," she said immediately. 

Alex grimaced. "We’ll try our best.”

“That may not be possible,” Burr added, in what Alex had long-dubbed his _bad news councilor_ voice. “Martha, John is facing some pretty significant charges and there's a lot of evidence against him. Even you and John don't deny that he did it."

He saw her nod, resigned again, steeling herself to lose more of her family. It was a punch in the gut. "We'll do what we can,” Alex repeated.

Burr looked thoughtful. “There's a good chance of getting him out on bail while the trial goes on, that can give him quite a bit of freedom. And there's always the option of trying to bargain into getting the charges reduced, he's still young. 15-20 years would still get him out still in his thirties. He could have the bulk of his life free."

"I understand. I'll give you anything you need."

"Confirming the timeline would be helpful," Alex said. "We don't have to be too hasty with bargains, I want to see what we're working with first. Now, John came home on the 15th?"

"Yes. Home for spring break. It was his first time back since he left for university, I had to beg him to come and see us."

"Alright, so you would say he didn't want to go home?"

"No," She shook her head, curls flying everywhere. "He kept saying he wanted a new life, away from home and away from dad. He was going to live on his own terms. I just wanted to see him."

"Okay. When he came home, what were his interactions with your father like?"

"Mostly they avoided each other? I could tell John didn't want to fight, and dad wasn't pressing the issue. He was spending time with me and the kids instead."

"But they argued. I mean,” Alex cleared his voice and quickly grabbed the papers from Burr, “we have reports of an argument between John and Mr Laurens. Neighbours heard raised voices, and according to John your father split his lip."

"He did." Her mouth twisted. "I helped him put vaseline on it."

"According to John, the argument was because he had told his father-"

"-Alexander!" Burr snapped.

"-told his father that he was gay and sleeping with a man," Alex finished.

"Oh." Martha said.

"You didn't know?" Evidently not, from her slack-jawed look of horror and the way she was blinking rapidly.

"No. No, I- I didn't. Johnny? Was... you don't think that had anything to do with it?"

"We're just establishing a timeline right now," Alex continued, trying to ignore the daggers Burr was sending his way. _It would come out in a trial anyhow. Something like that isn't going to remain a secret, it's too central to the case_. 

But Burr didn't seem to be moved by such common sense. He plucked the papers from Alex with extreme dignity and turned back to face Martha. "I'm sorry for my partner. I know that's not what you need to be hearing during such a stressful time. If we could get back to the timeline?" 

At her nod, he pressed on. "After that, Henry apparently took a day to think about it before altering his will to remove any traces of John and giving significantly higher amounts to your siblings - James Laurens, Henry Laurens Jr, and Mary Laurens."

The so-called motive for the crime. A revenge killing for cheating him out of millions in inheritance. A flimsy motive as far as Alex was concerned - who traded a life with no millions for a life with no millions also behind bars? It wasn't as though John had anything to gain. "And then, on the 18th, John put arsenic in his father's tea and poisoned him while you were upstairs. Can you tell us about that? John spoke to you that night, did he not?"

"John came in where I was reading. He didn't have it on him, I think. Just the split lip that had reopened. It was dripping down his chin. He told me to take the kids upstairs." The sentences were short and clipped, bordering on the edge of horror that she had almost witnessed her father die. "Said to take them upstairs, turn on the television, and stay there until he came to get us. I thought- I don't know what I thought. I knew something bad was going to happen."

"But you didn't do anything? Ask him any questions? Find your father?"

"I trusted John." More tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "John always, _always_ did what was best for us. I was scared of what was going to happen - he looked so wild, frightened I guess - but I trusted that he knew what was best. We went upstairs. I didn't hear anything at all, we stayed there until a police officer came up and explained what had happened."

Alex nodded, flashing back to his last day outside the foster system. Fourteen years old, standing outside his cousin's house with an officer saying _I'm afraid you have to stay out here, son. Is there anyone who can come and get you? Family?_ Phone calls being made, the officer turning him away so he didn't see the body being wheeled out of the house, the social worker coming to pick him up.

_Stay in the present_. "Wait," Alex said. "You said he looked frightened? Scared, not angry?"

"Not angry, no." It was resolute, sure. "He looked like a wild animal backed into a corner. Frightened."

"Can you tell us about that day? Did you do anything?"

"Nothing unusual. We went to the museum, I think? Yes, that was on the 18th. All of us went: me, the kids, John, and dad."

"And nothing happened there?"

"I don't think so." She bit her lip, thinking. "Not that I saw, at least. John was getting anxious. I remember I was worried, I didn't want him getting into trouble again. But he stayed in the house all night, played games with Jem and Hen and then-"

And then John had committed cold blooded murder with no intentions of getting away with it. Had called the police on himself and gone quietly. It still didn't add up, and Alex said as much aloud.

"What I don't understand is why now? He was gone away to college. If he wanted to be free of his father he was, all he had to do was stay there. He was free."

"Sometimes it takes a while for things to really sink in," Burr countered. "If what you said is true, Martha, and the abuse started that early... it's all a kid knows. It takes time to get out of that mindset."

“But that directly contradicts his testimony,” Alex fired back. “And the fact that he waited till spring break. I don’t think you understand what you’re talking about-”

Without looking at him, Burr said “Please do not assume you know every detail of my personal history, Alexander. Ms Laurens-”

“Wait. Burr?” Alex floundered, suddenly uncertain. “Are you saying-

“Ms Laurens,” Burr repeated, louder, “We can walk you through what will happen next. There is an arraignment tomorrow - that’s where the judge decides whether or not to grant bail. I have some questions, just to find as many things as possible we can use to show John is a pillar of the community...” And he went through the basic questions as Alex sat there, fuming.

When it was his turn, he walked Martha through what the trial was going to be like- the arraignment, pre-trial work, what they would need from her. She nodded solemnly after every item, and Alex couldn’t help but think the younger siblings would do just fine in her care.

On the way out Alex noted the sign on the door. Handpainted with childish swirls, it said _Fox_. "Favourite animal?"

"Childhood nickname." That ghost of a smile again. "We couldn't exactly call my brother Henry Laurens the Second, so we shortened it to Hen. Then Mary was Mare, and James was already Jemmy so that stayed. I chased Hen around so much that John started calling me Fox."

"What was John?" Alex had to ask.

"Wolf. We called John Wolf."

Alex thought back to John at their meeting, his eyes dark and wild and shadowed with desperation. He swallowed. _Wolf_ indeed.


	4. Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's bail hearing, and then lunch with Lafayette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If they live in New York City, you ask, why do they drive around so much? Because it's Burr.
> 
> Reminder that I am a social worker and not a lawyer. I'm not even American.  
> Chapter contains a brief and non-descriptive discussion of child sexual abuse

The car ride back was silent. Whether Burr was thinking about the case or just lost in his own thoughts, Alex wasn’t sure. And though Alex opened his mouth several times, ready to ask the questions on the tip of his tongue, somehow they never seemed right.

_“…I don’t think you understand what you’re talking about-”_

_“Please do not assume you know every detail of my personal history, Alexander.”_

Burr had grown up wealthy, privileged. An orphan, sure, but one taken in by his family rather than left at the mercy of the New York foster system. Burr had gone to Princeton on a scholarship he didn’t need at all, had taken his inheritance and sank it into a law firm right after graduating. Burr had _everything_ Alex had gone without.

But it seemed he knew the man less well than he thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, stopped. He caught Burr’s eye in the mirror.

Burr sighed. “Ask.” It was a cool command, explicit permission. “I can practically _hear_ you thinking and it’s driving me nuts. Get it over with.”

“What did you mean?” Alex asked, “What you said, about your personal history, that-”

Burr sighed. “I was referring to a period in my life I would rather not relive. Demons lurk in all kinds of places, Alexander, not just the foster system.”

If Alex recalled correctly, Burr had gone away to university when he was seventeen. Away from home, away from- “Your uncle?” he asked shortly.

Burr nodded, facing straight ahead. “He was arrested shortly after I left for school. They kept it out of the papers for my sake.”

“And they believed you?” He could hardly believe it.

“I played my cards well.” Burr’s smile was full of daggers. “They searched the house. Found enough on his computer for a conviction.”

“Lucky boy.” Alex cannot imagine what words Burr had used to convince the authorities to intervene. He had tried all of them himself, over the years of different foster homes.

They said no more about it.

He begged off dinner with Eliza, working late to prepare a libel case that would be going to court in the coming weeks. As Burr was fond of reminding him, they couldn’t drop paying cases for pro bono ones no matter how much more interesting a murder trial was.

By the time he got home, his wife was already in bed. He was able to kiss her on the forehead, climbing in beside her and enjoying the slight sounds she made as she stirred awake.

“Alexander?”

“My love.” He kissed her again, on the mouth this time, and she made a needy little sound.

“You’re home so late. How was work?”

“Work was work.” He wasn’t about to talk about what he’d learned about his co-worker. “Interviewed Laurens’ sister, got some good stuff for the bail hearing tomorrow. Got caught up on the Clinton case.”

“I have better things you can get hung up on.” Eliza reached for him, but Alex pulled her arms into an embrace.

“My love, I have an bail hearing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then.” She poked him in the chest. “You will come home on time.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you won’t bring any work home with you. You’re caught up, let it be enough.”

“Yes Betsey.”

“And you will tell me you love me.”

“Like the very sun in the sky.” That earned him a kiss and a gentle caress. “Did you want to come to the hearing? If you’re free?”

“You know I like seeing you in court. I’ll be there.”

Sleep came easily, and five hours later Alex left his wife abed to start the day. A walk outside (they should really look into adopting a dog, they could manage a dog. And it would stop Eliza talking about adopting children), a shower, breakfast, getting through some of his reading and drafting a response to an opinion column in the New York Times that had caught his attention.

He was at the courthouse at quarter to eight, Eliza already inside and filing into the gallery, as Aaron Burr pulled up.

“You look like crap.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said shortly, ducking his head to obscure the dark shadows under his eyes.

“Don’t let it show in court.” An old joke between them, Burr’s constant refrain of _looks matter just as much as actions do, Alexander. You have to look like someone they believe in._

Burr smiled thinly. “Never.”

He did look marginally better as the hearing started, and Alex was pleased to see no further bruising on John Laurens when the boy was led in. Either he’s stopped getting into fights or he’d stopped pulling his punches.

Jefferson sauntered in at two minutes to eight, Starbucks cup in hand and an exaggerated wink to the audience. “Boys.” He nodded at Alex and Burr. “Are you ready to get this show on the road?”

“Don’t respond,” Burr hissed.

“I’m not stupid.” But god, he wanted to.

The hearing moved forward like it usually did. The judge called the meeting to order, stating the basic facts of the case for anyone not caught up.

Then it was Jefferson’s turn. With a sobriety that was unusual in his day-to-day life he summarized the horrors of the crimes John had committed. “This man willfully, knowingly, murdered a member of his own family in cold blood. This was not a crime of passion, committed in the heat of the moment, but an act of revenge methodically planned out and executed without remorse. John Laurens is a danger to his family, to his community, and to society at large.”

 _Look remorseful,_ Alex thought desperately as the prosecution concluded their remarks. Instead, John stared at Jefferson with a look of pure loathing. If looks could kill, Jefferson would have been on fire.

“Your honor.” He stood, turning the attention away from Jefferson. “My client, far from being the menace the prosecution makes him out to be, is a pillar of the community. He is actively engaged in student life at Columbia, volunteers his time and money with a variety of organizations, and has a family that is eagerly awaiting his return. They feel perfectly safe with him.” Jefferson sent him a thunderous look. _He didn’t know about Martha_. Good.

Burr listed off John’s community activities, stressing his push to doing good work at Columbia. Jefferson shot back with his criminal record and returned, again and again, to the fact that he had killed his father in cold blood.

Finally, Alex had had enough. “Your honor, even if what the defense claims is true – a claim we firmly refute – even if it is true, the very nature of the crime positions my client as someone who will not strike again. This crime was well-thought out and extremely targeted. It was not the crime of an impulsive child, as the prosecution suggests. The defense finds it unlikely that the killer of Henry Laurens will strike again before this case is brought to trial. My client would merely like to spend his time with his surviving family while he attempts to clear his name.”

Finally, the judge held up her hand. “Alright. Thank you both for your arguments. I am setting bail at one and a half million, and I am requiring the defendant to be fitting with a tracking anklet until the end of his trial. Thank you, gentleman, and have a good day.”

 _Victory,_ Alex mouthed at Burr.

“Not yet,” Burr replied. “He needs someone to post bail.”

“His sister-“

“Might not have it. Who knows what kind of assets the family fortune is tied up in. Besides, you saw the will – most of it’s going to their half siblings.”

“Their _white_ siblings,” Alex added under his breath, thinking back to the blonde hair of the kids he’d seen in Martha’s house. “Alright. Ask her. It’s a first step at least.”

They’d asked her not to come today, to better surprise Jefferson. So they’d have to call her. He scanned the seats, seeing his wife talking to a man in a blue and gold jacket that looked awfully familiar.

“Eliza?” Alex asked, walking over to meet them. “How was it?”

“Oh, you did very well.” She kissed him on the cheek; he pressed one to the back of her hand. “This is Laf, he’s done a lot of work with the Graham Windham-“

“Lafayette!” That was where he knew the man from. “One of my clients was a friend of yours, Maria Reynolds.” That had been only a few weeks ago, so the details were still fresh. She’d divorced her husband, moved in with her friend, and was in the process of charging him for spousal abuse.

“Going by Maria Lewis now,” Laf grinned. “And very thankful to the lawyer who took on her case for free. The husband is in prison now?”

“Still in jail.” Alex frowned. “He’s stalling while awaiting sentencing. I don’t know why, he’s going away for a good long time.” His mind was still running around the information that his wife was acquainted with a friend of his former client. 

Eliza smiled politely. “I didn’t know you were interested in law, Laf.”

“Non, non.” He shook his head. “I find it incomprehensible at the best of times. Only to support my friends.”

“Your friends?” Alex asked blankly. For Maria was his friend, of course, but who was Lafayette here for today?

“Oui.” Laf’s expression hadn’t changed. “Today I am supporting John.”

“Oh!” Eliza’s smile widened, then dimmed. “I didn’t know you knew John Laurens. _Or_ my husband, for that matter.”

Lafayette shrugged. “I know a lot of people.”

“No no, this is good.” Alex had started to pace. “Lafayette, would _you_ be able to front the money for John’s bail? I’d like to get him out as soon as possible, and I truly don’t believe he’s a flight risk.”

“Well of course!” The man said immediately. “How much is needed?”

“Judge said the bail is set as a million and a half-“

“Done,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“-but a bail bondsman would only need a tenth of that.”

“Oh, well. Where do I sign?”

And it was as easy as that. A few hours later, John was escorted out of the jail with an tracked fixed around his ankle. The first thing he did was throw his arms around Lafayette in a fierce hug.

“Mon chou, ne pleure pas. C'est fini maintenant.” Laf patted him soothingly on the back.

“Il est juste commencé, Laf.”

Burr, behind them, cleared his throat. “John, are you staying with your sister or making other arrangements? We need to be in contact, for the case.”

“He will stay with me,” Laf said firmly. “Unless you think staying with his sister would be better?”

“It probably would,” Alex said honestly. “A show of support.”

“Provided she continues to support him,” Burr added. John nodded shakily.

“I’ll stay with her then. Thank you.”

“At least let me take you out to lunch,” Lafayette insisted.

Burr was already shaking his head. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work. The Lee case.”

“I’ll go,” Alex offered before he could think better of it. “Betsey?”

“Of course.” She linked her arm with his. “I know a lovely little Italian place down the street.”

They walked there in awkward silence. Lafayette taking the lead, Eliza calling out directions from where she walked with Alex, and John taking up the rear. The restaurant was likewise awkward if a little more chatty, Lafayette keeping up a steady stream of commentary on the weather, the food, slowly coaxing them all into conversation while ignoring the reason they were there. He never touched John without telling him first, Alex noticed.

“Mon ami, that is such a great idea I must slap you on the shoulder for it.”

“Let me see that bruise on your face. May I?”

“Your hair is atrocious, John, let me run a hand through and tell you just how bad it is - yes, this need a wash. Several washes. Do not have long hair if you cannot take care of it, mon chou.”

John, though still wary, submitted to these touches easily. He winced when Lafayette ran a hand through his hair, but said only, “There’s another bruise there.”

“Tell me,” Eliza said, looking at John with her bright eyes. “We’ve heard a lot of bad things these past few days, so tell me about things you like. What is your favorite thing in your life?”

The question clearly surprised him. John thought for a long moment, and a self-conscious laugh shook its way out of his thin frame. “The woods. Anywhere I can go outside, really, but there’s this little forest near my old school… walking there, you’d swear the trees could sing.”

“It sounds lovely,” Eliza smiled. “Do you hike?”

“I run.” He shrugged. “Swim. Climb. Anything that got me out of the house. But I liked the woods best.”

Eliza glanced over at her husband. “His answer’s much better than yours, Alexander.” 

“I-” he started to defend himself. “That was in the heat of the moment. You didn’t let me think about it.”

“When have you ever stopped to think about something? His answer was, in fact,” she added to John and Lafayette, “ _'parties that have allowed me to meet the most beautiful woman in the world’._ ”

Lafayette laughed. “What a charmer.” Even John was smiling.

“Hey, I can’t help it if it’s true.” Alex twined his fingers in hers. “It wasn’t a line-”

“Mon ami, that was a line-”

“-well it wasn’t _just_ a line,” Alex huffed. John creaked out another laugh. He really was lovely when he smiled, Alex couldn’t help but notice, despite the fact that Lafayette really had been right about washing his hair. “Tie?” he offered, pulling one of the many hair ties off his wrist and offering it to John.

“I- sure. Thank you.” He tied his hair into a tight ponytail while answering Eliza and Lafayette’s gentle questions about hiking and good places to rock climb in the city.

During a lull in the conversation, he turned to Lafayette. “Have you heard from Frank?”

Lafayette shifted uncomfortable. “I have not, mon ami. I do not know how he is taking it.” And then, in french, “ _It is a lot to ask of someone you have not been dating very long_.”

“I know.” John ducked his head. “But he could have told me in person.”

“ _He might still, my friend. Give him time._ ”

John nodded grimly. “When may I see my family?” 

It took a moment for Alex to realize the question was directed at him. “Oh! Martha and your half-siblings?”

“Yes.” Stupid, as if he had any other family. His mother was dead. At least two aunts had already condemned the boy in interviews with the press - it was why Burr had asked Martha not to attend the trial, so they could sucker punch Jefferson with her support.

“Well, anytime I suppose. You’re going to be living in the apartment with them, right?”

“They’re at the apartment.” John nodded to himself, and without another word stood up and started walking towards the door.

“John!” Alex jumped up, clapping a hand on his shoulder to halt him. The effect was instantaneous: John stopped dead, jerking once in his grip and then stilling. He shoulders were so tense Alex could have mistaken them for rock.

He let go immediately, but John’s shoulders didn’t relax. “I didn’t mean to- to startle you. But I don’t think you should be riding the subway right now.”

“I was planning to run, actually.” John’s voice was deceptively calm.

“Still not wise. You’re accused of killing one of the most powerful men in the country. At least let me give you a ride.”

“I will do it, Monsieur Hamilton.” Lafayette spoke up. “It will give John and I the chance to catch up properly and save you going out of your way. We will take my car.”

“Sure,” Alex said, and John relaxed imperceptibly. “John, I’ll see you on Monday.”

A short nod, and John stomped out. Presumably to wait by the car.

“He did not like that, when you grabbed him,” Lafayette said mildly. He raised a hand for the check, waving off Eliza’s protest. “Please, it is my pleasure.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Alexander flushed. He’d reacted instinctively, grabbing John before he could get out the door.

“Still. He doesn’t like being touched without warning. He is not a trusting one, our Laurens.”

“Did he tell you why that was?” Alex couldn’t help asking.

Lafayette considered him, eyes moving from Alex to Eliza as he evaluated. “My friend has nightmares when left sleeping alone. My friend would rather beat his knuckles against the wall than talk about why. _My friend_ kills his father when he finally goes home. I am not blind, Mr and Mrs Hamilton, but there is nothing more I _need_ to know about John than how best to help him.” He stood. “Which, right now, is taking him to his sister. If you’ll excuse me?”

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Eliza’s cheek. “Mrs. Hamilton, we must do lunch. I’ll be in touch.”

And then he was gone.

Alex let his head sink down onto the table. “I’m just making a mess of everything, aren’t I?”

A hand started rubbing his back. Eliza. “You’re doing the best you can. And I know John must appreciate your help. You got him out of jail, didn’t you? Take the rest of the day, do some paperwork at home and catch up on your sleep.”

“I have something I promised to do.” He sighed, dragging himself to his feet. It was still before noon. He could get a lot done before five pm. “I have to look over the Laboy case, Burr won’t, he says we take on too many pro bonos-”

He saw something unhappy flash in Eliza’s dark eyes. Then she smiled. “Alright. Can you try to be home at a sensible hour? And maybe even early tomorrow? It feels like I haven’t see you all week, and you really need to catch up on your sleep.”

That he could do. “Five pm tonight, early tomorrow,” he repeated back dutifully, if only to see that smile again. Alex would do an awful lot for that smile. Cutting his work day short seemed like a bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normalize warning people before you touch them <3
> 
> French Translations:  
> “Mon chou, ne pleure pas. C'est fini maintenant.” - My dear, don't cry. It's over now.  
> “Il est juste commencé, Laf.” - It's only just started, Laf  
> (Mon chou, literally "my cabbage" is a french endearment that doesn't really have a direct translation. Someone you love, but often used in a more familial way)
> 
> A bit of a breather before things start shaking down. (Spoiler: Alex does not go home early tomorrow)


	5. 911

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more interviews with John's neighbours. Alex and Burr gain a new context for the events that lead up to Henry Laurens' murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO I am genuinely sorry this took so long to finish. I had a major crisis of Where This Story Was Going. Ended up significantly decreasing one arc and solidifying another, to focus the story more on John and Alex's relationship. You will also notice it now says "Chapters: 5/11" instead of some vague question marks. The story is definitely getting finished, hopefully soon.
> 
> Beta'd, as always, by the lovely Oaxara.
> 
> extra warnings for discussions of childhood sexual abuse in the chapter.

_Hello this is 911 what is your emergency?_

_My father's dead._

_Okay. Do you know what caused his death?_

_He drank poison._

_Can you check on him and confirm that he’s deceased for me? Feel for a pulse, check for breathing? Do you know what kind of poison he ingested?_

_He's dead now. I'm sure. I watched- I watched him die. He’s dead._

_Okay. I'm sending paramedics and a police cruiser to your location. Can you stay on the line?_

_Sure. Whatever you need._

_What's your name, first of all?_

_John._

_Okay, John. My name is Kitty. Is there anyone else in the house with you right now?_

_My sister's upstairs with our half siblings. I didn't want them to see._

_To see what, John?_

_To see him die._

There was a long pause in the recording. Alex held his breath as he listened - there was the tiniest hitch of breath, as if John was holding back a sob, and then

_He's dead. He's really dead. I'm sorry, I-_

_That's okay, John. The police will be there soon, they can handle things for you. You don't have to worry._

_I can see the lights. They probably want me to go outside, right?_

_That would be a good idea. Call out to them before you move, and keep your hands up._

_I will. Can you tell them something? I don't want my sister to see. Or the kids. I don't want them to see the body._

_I can certainly pass that on, John_

_I'm going to put the phone down now_

_Okay. Remember: hands up, call out first._

That was where the recording ended. They sat in silence for a moment, and then Alex said, “He didn’t say that he was the one to kill his father.”

“Alexander.” Burr made his name sound like a sigh. He was good at that. “He confessed to us. We have no other suspects.”

“It was just an idea,” Alex shot back, defensive. “And we don’t have anything right now, Burr. We need witnesses, experts, character witnesses-”

“We have his sister.” Burr held up a hand for silence. “And you can ask the psychologist who’s testifying for Laboy-”

Alexander talked right over him. “She’s an expert in a completely different field! We need someone to talk about child abuse, not entrapment! Martha’s good, but we need _more_. People who are willing to say John was being abused, people who saw things, or overheard things. Ideally, someone who can fill us in on whatever he’s still not telling us.”

“And where are you going to get the time for all this, Alexander?” Burr snapped. “Sit down for a minute. I will remind you that this case, while lucrative in publicity, _isn’t paid_. If we neglect our paying clients this firm will go under.”

The problem was, he hated their paying clients. Clinton, Lee, all rich men who ran afoul of the law and went running to their lawyers. If he had to listen to Clinton talk _one more time_ about how much of a benefit he thought it was to have lawyers that _look like those people, you know. The jury can clearly see I’m not being racist, just honest,_ he was going to put the man’s eye out. 

"Are you ready to go to court with Clinton on Thursday?" Burr challenged. 

"I am." He wasn't, actually, but that was okay. Alex was no stranger to all-nighters.

"Do you have the witnesses prepped? The opening arguments drafted? Have you-"

"Alright!" Alex burst out. "I'll stay late and get it done today. Our paying clients won't have a single complaint. Can you get off my back now?"

"Sure." Burr's smile was thin. "Now, are we heading out to the Laurens house?"

"What?" Had he misheard? After raking him over the coals about paying cases, Burr wanted to visit John Laurens?

Burr shrugged. "I said make sure paying cases were taken care of. I didn't say you can also neglect our only murder trial. If you need to drop something, drop Laboy."

"Laboy's almost ready to go to trial," Alex argued back. _And Justin deserves another chance_. "Plus, I think the DA will cut a deal before we get that far, they don't want it in the papers. I'll get it all done, you have my word."

"Just don't overwork yourself." Burr grabbed his keys. "Let's go."

On the ride over, he explained the strategy. "We need witnesses other than his sister. Neighbours, friends, someone will have heard something. Seen something. And there's the argument-"

"The one they had when he came home? When Henry Laurens hit him?"

"That one. That was outside. Someone will have heard what they said."

"But he told us what they said." John had stated, very clearly, _I said I was gay and sleeping with someone he wouldn't have approved of._ That would be the boyfriend he mentioned at lunch, Frank.

"No," Burr said patiently. "He cut himself off before he finished the sentence. 'I told my father I was gay and-'. You filled it in for him."

He hadn't considered that. "You think there's something else there? Being gay is certainly reason enough for a southern conservative to disown his son."

"All I'm saying," Burr fiddled with the radio as they got on the highway, "is that it rarely hurts to be thorough.

The rest of the car ride passed without conversation, the thin strains of Burr's classical music filling the car. 

The Laurens’ main home was a mansion situated well outside the city. Towering skyscrapers gave way to suburbs, then to little developments, then to lush pastures and fields. Finally, they came to the gated community where Henry Laurens had lived among politicians, stock brokers, heiresses, and the rest of the wealthy elite who considered the city beneath them.

Burr, as he parked their car on the street and wandered through the gardens by the house, looked right at home. Alex hated it at first sight.

They started with the next door neighbour, stepping carefully around the hydrangeas and the statue of a cherub angel. "Excuse me, miss," Burr greeted the neighbour when she opened the door. "We're lawyers working on the murder case that happened here a week ago. We were wondering if you would be willing to answer some questions?"

"Are you going to put that horrible boy away for the rest of his life?"

"No ma'am." Burr's smile tightened, almost imperceptibly. "We're his defense."

"He's a horrible boy," she spat. "Thieving hooligan. Something went wrong with him, you mark my words. Henry did everything he could to curb his son's behavior, and this is the thanks he gets for it? It's a pity we don't have the death penalty anymore."

Alex saw red. He opened his mouth to respond, to tell her exactly what he thought of her _opinions_ , when a boot came down solidly on his big toe. 

"Thank you for your time, ma'am." Burr was still smiling as his foot ground down on Alexander’s, but now there was not even a hint of warmth in it. "And have a nice day." The door shut, a hand clamped down on Alex's arm, and the next thing he knew he was being hauled back towards the road.

"That arrogant, ignorant, selfish woman-"

"I know."

"The death penalty, I would like to-"

"I know."

"-stick her opinions right up her-"

"Alex. I know." 

Breathing heavily, Alex stared at his partner. Burr's face, usually a mirror-mask of impassivity, was showing cracks. He looked grave, solemn, but there was a tightness around the eyes Alexander had learned to associate with anger. "If you know, then why don't you do anything?"

"Because there's nothing we can do that would actually help the situation. Now, I suggest we move on. Can you control yourself enough to talk to the neighbours on the right while I do the left side, or do you need me with you?"

"I can handle myself. I'm not a child,” he said shortly.

“Fine. Good luck.”

But as Burr sauntered away, comfortable among the white picket fences, Alex grew more uncomfortable by the minute. He didn’t belong here. He belonged in Manhattan, in the narrow side streets filled with people just scraping by. _Alexander Hamilton, foster child!_ He clamped down on the thought. Burr was just being Burr. It had nothing to do with what he was.

 _No, it has to do with who you are_.

He pushed the thought away. _John Laurens is counting on you_.

The second door proved no more helpful. The housewife behind it hemmed and hawed, muttering about what a _dreadful tragedy_ it was as she poured him some tea.

"Did you know John well?" Alex asked her.

"When he was a boy he used to play with my sons. Then his mother died, and, well,"

That would have been when John was nine, the same age the abuse started. "Can you tell me anything about that?"

"His behavior changed," she sighed fretfully, pouring more tea. "He became a lot more reserved, you know. I don't think old Henry was ready to parent all by himself, he moved a new girlfriend in there so quickly. Neither of the kids liked her, they used to stay over here for dinner. Both polite, but you know. Reserved, after Mary passed. 

"Anyway, his new girlfriend popped out three kids, then got popped on a DUI. Lost custody. I don't even know if she's out, she's certainly never come back here."

Alex nodded. It was a situation he had seen before. "Now, just circling back, you mentioned John's behavior changing. We've had some records of him acting out-"

She waved her hand. "Kid’s stuff, just kid’s stuff. Being stupid, crying out for attention. I think he just wanted his father to notice him."

 _I can pretty much guarantee that is the opposite of what he wanted_ , Alex thought, but said nothing.

"He was breaking into houses, petty vandalism and shoplifting. Nothing he actually needed, you know, everyone here does really well. Just acting out. His dad was sure hard on them all, I always thought. John spent as much time as possible out of the house."

Alex walked her through a few more questions, John's after school activities and his relationship with people in the community. As far as he could tell, John had largely kept to himself. His sister Martha had been more social, but largely the Laurens had been self contained as they dealt with the horror of their father. Finally, as he was wrapping up, he asked, “Would you be willing to testify what you just told me in a court of law?”

“What? Of course not.” She drew back, picking up the pot of tea as if it would protect her. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I didn’t hear anything or see anything.”

“Ma’am,” Alex’s patience was wearing thin, “you knew the defendant very well and had an intimate look at his relationship with his father.”

“I didn’t know him well at all. Only when he was a child. And it’s nothing anyone else doesn’t know, one of them will be happy to tell you I’m sure. I couldn’t possibly go to court. No. It’s just not possible.”

“Ma’am-”

Her mouth was a thin line. “I think you’d better go now.”

_Well that was a bust._

When he stepped out, Burr was waiting by the car. Alex waved him over. "No smoking gun, but I got some good stuff. Problem is, no one’s willing to go on record with it.”

“I got the same,” Burr grimaced. “No one’s willing to testify against a supreme court justice, even a dead one.”

“Oh, is that is?” Alex’s head snapped up. “They’re afraid it’ll hurt their careers? Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Alex…”

“Someone is _dead_. A boy is going to trial, possibly to prison for the rest of his life! They can’t bother to testify what really happened because it might hurt their chance at a _promotion?_ ”

“I have someone I need you to meet,” Burr interjected as soon as Alex had stopped to take a breath. “She can’t testify though.”

“Then what use is she?” Alex was done being charitable. _Selfish, petty housewives_.

"She says she heard the argument between John and Henry Laurens."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?” Alex blinked, hefting his recorder. “Let's go."

And so, Aaron introduced him to the neighbour who backed onto the Laurens' property: a Mrs Theodosia Prevost. A beautiful woman with box braids that reached her back and a gleaming politician’s smile.

"Anything I can do to help,” she said, leading them inside the home. “I feel so terrible, hearing what I did and not doing anything."

"Can you tell-" Alexander started. Burr shot him a look. _Fine, take the lead._

"Can you start from the day of the fifteenth, when John came home for spring break? Tell us what you remember."

"I hadn't seen them at all. I see Martha, John's sister, and the kids sometimes, but I hadn't seen John in months. I didn't even know he was home. Really, I thought he'd might have run away. Turned eighteen, gotten out of dodge, and waited for his inheritance."

"And why did you think that?" Alex asked.

"Because it seemed like the kind of thing he would do.” Her gaze was stately, focused entirely on them. Beside him on the sofa, Burr shifted. “He was always getting into trouble, but you have to understand; he wasn't a bad kid."

"What do you mean?"

Theodosia paused, looking over at Burr. He gave her an encouraging smile and a nod to continue. "He was always so polite. So good with his younger siblings. Since their mother lost custody, you know, John and Martha took over a lot of the parenting for them and I think they grew up a little too fast. But I've never seen a more polite, more compassionate young man. He just... had a violence in him, I guess. Some streak of destruction that had to be let out."

"And what happened on the fifteenth?”

For the first time, Theodosia hesitated. “This is off record, right? My husband will never have to know?”

“Never,” Burr said solemnly. Alex kicked him under the coffee table.

Theodosia flashed him a brief smile. "I'd gone to put some things into place, water the plants. I like doing it at night, you can see the stars. But on that night I heard them arguing.”

Alex was leaning forward, eyes fixed on her. “And what did they say?”

“Henry was telling his son how much of a disappointment he was. Seemed angry John wasn’t going into politics. John said something like ‘So what? So I can be like you?’ and he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.”

“Is that when-”

“Please continue,” Burr cut him off smoothly. “What did Henry Laurens do then?”

“Nothing. John said- he said-” Theodosia hesitated for a long moment, eyes darting around the room. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this. My husband will be home soon.”

“It’s important,” Alex told her. “Please, this may be important to saving a young man’s life and freedom. Anything that gives us a better picture of things is a huge bonus.”

“If you say so,” she said doubtfully, but continued. “He said that he was dating someone. That he wasn’t coming home again. And he said-” a quick, sudden breath, “‘ _You won’t touch me again, old man._ '”

“That was what he said?” Burr demanded. “Exactly, those are the words you heard?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “He said he was dating a boy name Frank. Henry asked if that meant he was ‘going queer’ and if John was going to blame him for it. John said that that wasn’t what he was blaming his dad for. And then he said the other bit.”

Alex and Burr shared a long look, one filled with meaning. 

_I told him I was gay and having sex with someone_ , John had said in that courtroom. Now, Alex filled in the missing piece.

_I told him I was gay and having sex with someone else. I told him that he would never touch me again._

Theodosia was still talking. “And then I heard a smack. I think his father hit him. I- god. He was a supreme court justice, you know? You don’t think about them as people who hit their kids.”

“Unfortunately, violence can happen in any kind of home,” Burr said calmly. How was he calm? Alexander felt ready to scream. “Now Mrs Prevost-”

Her dark eyes flicked back to him, already wary. She was ready for him to push her again on testifying.

“May I come back here on a weekday and discuss options with you?”

She took a moment to process that. “Make sure it’s on a weekday. But yes. I do want to do anything I can. I could testify anonymously…”

“Which would, unfortunately, wouldn’t pass the Constitution Clause. People have the right to confront evidence against them, and in this case that would be your words. You would need to testify in person.”

“It would end my marriage.” But still, she looked thoughtful. 

Alex was all but ready to pounce on that hesitation, but he sensed Burr was going for something else here. So he followed the man when he rose, thanked Mrs Prevost for her time, and headed back to the car.

“So?” Alex prompted. “What are you going to do? Serve her anyway and treat her as a hostile witness?” That would force her to testify, but wouldn’t earn them much good will.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll keep talking to her. I think, with some support, she’ll testify. Couldn’t you tell? She wants to do the right thing, she cares about justice.”

“Burr,” Alex almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing, “are you _blushing_?

"I'll get the info you need," Was all Burr would say on the matter, no matter how much Alex prodded him on the way back to the office. 

Then it was just paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Burr handled calls from potential clients, Alex prepped the cases they had. He wrote out arguments longhand, flipping back from one law book to another and he sought out arguments. 

Finally, as the clock ticked past 5pm, Burr said, "Are you going to be ready for tomorrow with Clinton?"

"The libel case, yeah, don't worry about it." Alex waved a hand. "Ready to go by tomorrow." He could get it done today.

"Then you won't mind if I'm not in court?"

"Why?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"Appointment. Unavoidable, really, I must go."

"Is it to do with a case?" Alex narrowed his eyes. "The Laurens case? You have a plan, don't you?"

"All good lawyers have plans."

"Not what I meant." Alex wasn't about to be brushed off. Not on this. "You have a plan to get him off."

This was why, when Burr asked him to become partners in a law firm, Alex had turned down his offer from Livingston and Associates and said yes to Burr. He was just that good. Cool when Alex was hot and calculating when Alex charged ahead - it made their private lives messy but it made them one hell of a legal team. Enough that when Burr came up with a plan, Alex was always willing to trust him on it.

Burr was calculating. He hadn't lost a case yet.

Neither, for all his hotheadedness, had Alex. He always said the jury liked some fire in a defense.

"If Mrs. Prevost testifies what she heard - even with the threat of her testimony - yeah," Burr nodded gravely. "I have a plan. John Laurens will not spend the rest of his life in prison, I can assure you."

"Do I get to know this miraculous plan?" Because Alex couldn't see it. They had the abuse, sure, but precious little to run a self defense claim with. Poison was not the kind of weapon you used in self defense. And, currently, they had no alternate suspects.

"Not yet." Burr picked up a piece of paper from Alex's desk. "God, how do you work like this? Your desk looks like a hurricane."

"Chaos breeds creativity, Burr." Burr's desk was organized like a schoolteacher’s desk - everything having a place, and everything in it's place. Carefully labelled folders, colour coded highlighters, a small jar of pens.

Alex had recently started putting books in between his piles of case files to keep them separate. It had the added benefit of reminding him he was only halfway through _Jane Eyre_. 

"By tomorrow?" Burr confirmed as he pulled on his coat.

"It'll be ready by tomorrow," Alex confirmed. "I'll take it to court Thursday, you will have your mysterious appointment that's going to blow open our case, and I'll meet you here after to talk strategy." Alex’s stomach rumbled. Well, that was what protein powder and granola bars were for. He unwrapped one and pulled out the Clinton file.

"Sounds good. Have a good evening, Alexander." And he left, a thick folder of well organized paperwork under his arm to work on at home. Alex turned back to his papers.

George Clinton, onetime CEO of a small company, currently in the midst of a series of lawsuits and counter lawsuits surrounding his relations with the press. If Alex had to remind him 'That's not slander, Mr Clinton, that's true' one more time, he'd have to pull his hair out. Fat, corrupt, and incredibly annoying as he was, Clinton was never going to stop causing mischief with the press. He was a good, steady client.

The court appearance tomorrow was just another part of the circus, going before the judge to do pre-trial work and give both lawyers a chance to jockey for position and negotiate a deal. Likely, none of this would go to court.

Which Alex was fine with. The less he dealt with Clinton the better.

As the clock slipped past 6pm, 7pm, 8pm, Alex kept working. He wrapped up the Clinton file prep and moved on to drafting a response to the New York Times's politics column. Finishing just short of 9pm he shoved the papers in a drawer, tossed _Sense and Sensibility_ on top, and grabbed his coat.

The subway home was quiet at this time of night. Alex read _Jane Eyre_ , his headphones in, studiously ignoring everyone else in the car. At no point during the hours of work or the ride home did he remember promising Eliza he would be home early that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> Tumblr is [here](thellamaduo.tumblr.com) come talk about hamilton with me.


	6. Defender of the Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John opens up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now have incredible/amazing/gorgeous fanart of Martha in chapter 2! You can see it [here](http://nicolors42.tumblr.com/post/150799317183/wolf-we-called-john-wolf-have-i-ever) and tell the artist how great they are because that's pretty much how I pictured her. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Oaxara for betaing. Warnings all in full force and get a little more graphic in the descriptions.

“Your honour, we are ready to bring his case to trial” Thomas Conway, the prosecuting lawyer, said solemnly.

Alex leapt to his feet, trying to look at righteous as possible. “Your honour, the defense has a motion to dismiss.”

“Oh really?” The judge peered at him over her spectacles. “The prosecution and defense may approach the sidebar.”

Alex stepped up to the judge, handing over his papers and shooting a triumphant look in Conway’s direction. “As you can see, your honour, in this case a charge of libel will not hold. My client was only speaking the truth, and this case is a ridiculous farce intended to obscure that truth.

"As you can see, your honour, a junior associate of the company Patriot Inc has confirmed this morning that what my client said was true. The company _does_ hire minorities at the expense of-"

"This is ridiculous," Conway interrupted. "These biased, discriminatory, frankly _racist_ accusations-"

"Are confirmed by a member of your client's company," the judge cut him off coolly. "Sit down and be quiet, Conray."

"Thank you, your honour," Alex said. "Considering that the majority of statements Mr Clinton made were confirmed to be true - a fact we do intend to make public - a charge of libel will not stand." _Careful, careful_. It didn't do to look too smug. 

The judge turned to his opponent. "Mr Conway, anything to say to that?"

"Only that we will be investigating these statements thoroughly, your Honour. We believe them to be either false or coerced, and would like the opportunity to hold this trial over for a week while we investigate."

"Very well," the judge said. "I will announce one week's holdover, at which time the prosecution must decide whether it will continue to pursue a charge of libel."

It was a win. A time consuming win, despite the short time in court - he and Burr had spent the better part of two weeks charming an intern until she was willing to say whatever they wanted on a statement. It wasn't that she lied - everything she said was the truth. But it was _how_ she said it. The spin, the ideas between the words left unsaid.

Still. A good day's work left Alex with a sour taste in his mouth. It didn't help that, when it came to his own opinions, he agreed with the prosecution.

“Another day defending the racist oligarchs of the city, eh Hamilton?” Conway said as he passed.

Just because Conway was right didn’t mean he was going to take that lying down. “Another day prosecuting anything that passes your desk, probable cause or not?”

“Even so.” Conway’s smile didn’t fade. “I always wonder - how do defense attorneys sleep at night? Is it the same bull they sell you in lawschool about checks and balances to the system? Or do you just snuggle up on the large pile of money they pay you to get them off?”

“Watch it Conway, or I’ll punch you in the mouth.” He wasn’t in the mood to play games. Not today. “Because, sometimes, they are innocent. And sometimes the prosecution does such a godawful job that you deserve to be taken down. However right you are, this case doesn't have two legs to stand on."

"You tell yourself that when you go to sleep tonight, Hamilton." Conway picked up his briefcase. "You tell yourself that the next time your client gets drunk and starts ranting to the press and demonstrating all the slurs he can use against a competitor's employees."

"Punch to the mouth, Conway," Alex repeated. Conway just smiled and left.

As soon as he was gone Alex was on his phone. "Mulligan? Can you pull me another pro bono? A good one? I need something, man, I can't deal with this case anymore and I have the time."

"Alright alright." He heard shuffling on the other end of the line as his case manager pulled out some files. "Got one. You know the blackout that happened in Washington Heights three weeks ago?"

Alex screwed up his face. "The riot?"

"Yeah. Kid got arrested in conjunction to it but swears he wasn't rioting. He was guarding his family's store. But someone was setting off roman candles, and when the cops got there he was brandishing a baseball bat."

"But you don't think he did it?"

"I did a preliminary check. The store is his all right, his cousin's. And nothing was stolen. He's charged with disturbing the peace and rioting in the second degree."

"I'll take it." Anything to smooth his conscious over the Clinton case. Anything to keep his mind off the rest of his life. “Send it to the office. You have anything on the Laurens case?” In addition to being their case manager, Mulligan was also their lead investigator. 

“Still trying to confirm what you got from his neighbours. There isn’t a lot out there for this kind of thing. I faxed you his medical records though.”

“Thanks Mulligan. I’m meeting him again today, I’ll see what he says.”

"Great. And, Alex... you okay, man? I heard what happened with Eliza."

"I'm fine." Alex pressed a thumb to his temple, digging in. "I'm _fine_. It's okay. We'll fix it."

"Alright. You need a place to stay while you work things out?"

As if he'd ever do something like that to a friend. Herc didn’t need to be dragged into his mess. "No, but thanks man. I'll let you know."

It wasn't too long of a subway ride to his office - no Burr meant no car - and then he was left to survey the damage he's caused.

In the corner of the office space, beside his desk, was a cheap cot bed. The bed he'd been sleeping in the last two nights, ever since Eliza kicked him out.

Alex closed his eyes at the painful memory, as if not seeing the wreckage could block it out. It didn't work. It never did.

_Why is it so hard for you, Alex? Do you not like our home? Is this home we bought together not nice enough to you? Not to your tastes? Am I not to your tastes?_

He'd argued back, with all the dignity of a lawyer. He'd worked hard to get through law school, he had to work hard to be successful at it. That meant long hours. She had to know that, she's known that when she'd married him.

And how the tears had shone in her eyes as she spat, _I didn't think it would be every night! I didn't think I'd never see you! You're so busy defending the damned that I see more of Aaron Burr than I do my husband._

There wasn't much he could say to that, but he'd tried. He'd tried apologising, begging, and finally bargaining. He would do whatever she wanted. He would try harder, take on fewer cases. They could even talk about adopting, like she wanted.

That had been a mistake. Eliza's anger and turned up another notch, eyes blazing fire for just a moment. Then, as suddenly as it had started, her anger had turned cold.

_I don't think you have time for that, Alexander. A child or a relationship. I think you'd better go._

She'd let him pack a bag, at least. His files, his suits and a few changes of regular clothes, his few personal effects. His laptop, his medication. All of it went into his bag, and then he was taking the subway back to the only place he could go.

Burr, ever tactful, hadn't mentioned the bed when he came in the next morning. The man was still out on whatever mysterious errand he had - Alex briefly considered ordering enough takeout for both of them to share, but he wasn’t sure when Burr planned on returning. And he didn’t want to sit through another round of _Indian food is too spicy, Alex, couldn’t you have gotten sushi? What’s wrong with sushi?_

He stopped at subway instead, and at it on the long bus ride to the Laurens' apartment. At least the doorman let him through with only a brief conversation this time, and Martha met him at the door.

"Is there any news?"

"Some, not all of it good. Is John home?"

"Of course,” she said, pushing back her curls. “He doesn't go out anymore, with the newspapers and things. He's in the study with the boys."

She led the way, into a room where John sat on a leather couch with a half-brother on either side. All three had controllers in hand, and what looked like a neck-and-neck game of Mario Kart going.

"Eat shell!" one of the boys yelled.

John groaned. "Dammit, Jem. I was in first!"

"Not anymore!" the boy crowed.

The scene was so out of place from the John Alex knew that he hesitated, loathe to disturb them. Instead he and Martha watched as John played with the boys, yelling increasingly dramatic threats as he fell further and further behind. Finally, as one of the boys got a bullet powerup and surged ahead of the competition, John tossed the controller aside and tackled them. 

"He's very good with children," Alex observed over the shrieks of laughter.

"Always was." Martha nodded. "John would do anything for them. He's good with animals too, I don’t think there’s an animal in the world he can’t gentle. It's remarkable. It's just adults he doesn't like."

"Yeah, I met that John," Alex said under his breath. How did he go from the cold, defensive young man from the jail to the affectionate big brother he saw now?

John, now sitting on top of both boys and tickling them mercilessly, finally glanced up. When he saw them he stilled. The elder of the boys looked up as well, squeaking, "Who's that?"

"Someone come to talk to me, nothing for you to worry about." John said quickly. "Go and watch- I mean, go check on Mare and help your sister with dinner."

"But but-"

If Alex was expecting an outburst of anger at the pleading, he was definitely surprised when John smiled. "Go, go on. We can resume my kicking your butt in Mario Kart later."

" _You were not kicking out butts!_ "

"Hen!" Martha called, ending it. "Jem! You heard John, come help me with Mary."

Both boys scrambled up with dramatic sighs, following their sister out. Alex didn't follow them; he was focused on John. 

As his brothers scampered out John's smile slowly disappeared, to be replaced with a look of resignation. "I wondered when you'd be coming around. More questions?"

"A few," Alex admitted. "Is this the best place to talk?"

"Sure. Just shut the door."

Alex did, locking them in the little room. "How much have you told your brothers?" Inwardly, he cursed the fact that Burr wasn't here. This was what the man was good at - talking to people and making them feel at ease. Getting them comfortable to share their stories. Alex could set a court on fire, all full of righteous justice, but this was harder. This was human.

"As little as possible. They know that their father's dead, they know they can't play outside for a little while. I"m trying to keep them out of it."

"Probably wise. You've told them you're not guilty?"

John frowned at him. "But... I am guilty."

"Kids have big mouths. We're going into trial pleading not guilty, so having them say otherwise might hurt things.”

“Is that what we’re saying?” John asked neutrally. He had the eyes of a wild animal, Alex couldn’t help but notice - ever wary, always judging fight-or-flight. Wolf eyes.

“We’re trying to say they don't have enough of a case against you."

"And do they?”

"It's the best argument we've got right now," Alex admitted. He pulled a file from his bag, the same file that Jefferson had dropped off early that morning. "This is the state's case against you. We're going to go through it and you're going to tell me how to prove this is all circumstantial. Remember, we don't have to prove who did it. We just have to prove that they can't prove _you_ did it."

It wasn't too far of a reach. There were no direct witnesses, and the state didn't seem to have spoken to Theodosia Prevost. Nor had they found John's mysterious source of the arsenic, or anything connecting John to the crime.

"They have your fingerprints on the mug, sure, but it was a mug from your house. Those could have gotten on there anytime. You told Martha to take the kids upstairs, but that's something easily explained by your father's abuse. You were afraid for their safety. There’s nothing tying you to the arsenic or the murder itself beyond the fact that they don’t have a better explanation of who did it." He looked over at John, to ensure he was following. 

John's face was in shadow, folded neatly into a frown. "So many lies," he said quietly. "But it's better than the truth, I suppose."

“Speaking of lies,” Alex said reluctantly, pulling his attention away from the case and to the small recorder he’d brought. “We interviewed a neighbour who heard you arguing with your father. Do you want to guess what’s on the tape?”

John stared at the recorder like it was a viper. He said nothing.

Alex took it as a _no_. “John, did you father sexually abuse you?”

Again, no answer. Just a burning glare.

"John?" Clearly, he wasn't going to answer the question. Alex wasn't even sure if he _could_. 

_He looks like someone who's used to keeping secrets_ , Burr had said once. Alex tried a different tactic. "How old were you when this abuse started?"

"Ten or so," John said, every word a condemnation. Alex nodded. After the physical abuse then. "I was the oldest, so my bedroom was in the basement. There was no one to hear."

Alex's stomach turned over. He forced his voice to stay calm. "And lasted how long?"

John shrugged. "I don't know."

Alex doubted that. "Take your best guess."

"Well, till I left home. But he came to see me... less, as I got older. I was harder to control. That's what it was about for him, control." His eyes flickered up to Alex, pleading. "I don't want to use this in trial."

Damn. Alex was already planning how to use it. "We might have to," he hedged.

"You don't. You have everything else. You're telling me the hitting isn't enough?"

Alex opened his mouth to argue, something about not lying to juries, but something told him it wasn’t going to fly with John. John had kept this secret most of his life, he wasn’t about to be swayed by a justice argument. And he wasn’t wrong, not really. They didn’t really _need_ it for trial, with the other evidence they had. Not if John was ready to cooperate. 

He fixed John with a level look, and switched on the recorder. "Alright. You don't want to use that in trial? Give me something else to work with."

John does. He talks for the better part of an hour, taking Alex through the horror that was growing up with Henry Laurens. About the heavy drinking, and how it provoked rages that terrified the children. About how John would lock them in a room together, television on high, and try to wait it out. About how sometimes that wasn’t an option. He took off his shirt, showing Alex the small scar below his ribcage.

"I was in the hospital, they'll be a record."

"We have the record." Or, at least, Hercules did. "It says you tripped."

"Yeah," John snorted, a soft sound of contempt, "I tripped." And then, because he had promised truth, "He was drunk and yelling. It was so fast I didn't even see the knife until it was in me." And then he turned around to show Alex his back, more marks from his father's intemperate hand. A catalog of every mark his father had left on his body, and every mark that had been left on his soul.

Finally, there was nothing else to say. They stared at one another for a long moment, and Alex reached over to turn the recorder off. 

"Is it enough?" John asked.

 _For motive, yes. To get you off? That's harder._ Because he didn't know. At this stage, he really didn't know. He looked at John. Maybe it was something about the honesty John had shared, because what he did say was, "I thought you didn't care."

John's answer was soft. "I didn't. I just needed him gone, whatever the cost. But I want to stay here with my family. If we can, I want to win this."

"Good." There was something, Alex thought. Some glimmer of fighting spirit. "We have a solid chance. Burr is a goddamn legal genius, so don't count him out. And I wrecked my marriage over this case-" He saw John frown, and quickly amended, "well, not just over this case. Over a lot of things. But Burr was the best lawyer in our year, and I was runner up. If there's a way out of this, we'll find it."

"That's how you know Burr?" John asked slowly. "You went to school together? I wondered."

Should he tell the story? _Ah, screw it_. They were beyond pretty exteriors. "Burr and I used to date, in college. That's how I know him." Studying by day and partying by night. It had been a glorious two years, going at each other in moot court and then going at each other in the bedroom. Working each other up into a frenzy, staying up all night to study, or drink, or fight. Pushing each other to the all consuming need to excel. 

It couldn't last, of course. Eventually they burned out, each wanting more in life than success and drive. So they'd broken up, got hobbies, started sleeping for seven hours a night. Alex had met Eliza, someone who also wanted a family, and that was that. He didn't regret anything from those years, though.

John's frown only deepened. "I didn't know you liked men."

It was Alex's turn to shrug. "I like everything. Seriously, in college? If it was human and consenting, I was down. Lucky I didn't catch anything. Eliza wised me up some." And now she was leaving him. God. He couldn't even think about it.

 _We'll mend, we'll mend._ He'll send her flowers and a card. She can't give up on three years of marriage over one fight.She wasn't that kind of woman.

John still wasn't smiling. In fact, his eyes flickered over Alex’s face with some degree of uncertainty. Suddenly, in a rush, John said “It wasn’t all bad, you know.”

“I know.” God, he really did know. He’s lived it.

John stretched out his arm, his other hand tracing the long scar there. “I got that while I was running with Martha. We were kids, racing each other down the big hill. I tripped and fell against a tree. And there,” he pointed to a smaller mark, just a nick in his knuckles, “was Mary. She was three and throwing a tantrum, chucking things off the stairs. And then she overbalanced and fell off. I caught her. The cup she was holding broke and cut me, but I caught her. It even-” he broke off, troubled, before pushing ahead. “It wasn’t even bad with him, all the time. Sometimes he would do something, or say something, and it was like how it was before my mom died. He took me to baseball games. Let me sign up for track. It wasn’t _just_ horror.”

“I know.” Well, it seemed today was a day for all kinds of honesty. “I grew up in the foster system. I know what it’s like to hate yourself for feeling grateful.”

“You did?” The eyes on him were questioning now, not wary. And, for the first time, Alex found he didn’t really mind.

“I did. My mom died about the same age yours did, and Dad had already left. So into the foster system I went. And it wasn’t… great,” from the look on John’s face he understood exactly how much of an understatement that was, “but it could have been worse, you know? So what if I was getting moved every four months, getting hit, getting left out. At least there was someone to take me, most of the time. At least I still had somewhere to go. If I was getting hit at least it wasn’t often, or it was only when I deserved it. And sometimes they took us all places, to the fair or whatever. A foster mom taught me algebra. A different one helped me apply for law school. But you can’t live your life on ‘at least.’”

“No.” John sighed. “You can’t. But maybe you can live it on hope.”

“We’ll win this,” Alex promised. “We’ll find a way.”

He left the Laurens’ apartment with a renewed sense of hope. Their case was hard, certainly, but with a bit more prep they’d be ready to take on Jefferson. And by god, he wanted to win. He wanted to bring John back to his family, to give the boy some security in his life.

“There you are,” Alex heard as he opened the door to the office.

“Burr. How was your mysterious meeting?” 

“Good.” His smile was tight lipped.

“And what was the result?” Alex prompted.

“Hopefully dividends later.” He shifted a paper on his desk, took a note, and then added casually, “I had lunch with Theodosia, as well.”

“Oh?” Alex grinned roguishly. “And how did that go?”

Burr gave him a look. “Civilly.”

Really, the man was no fun at all. “Is she going to testify?”

“I didn’t ask her, actually.” Burr’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, not stopping the flow of conversation. “It’s more important to build up that relationship, to get her to a place where she feels like she can, you know, her husband is really-”

“Yes, yes,” Alex cut him off. “But do we have enough? Even without it?”

“Well,” Burr held up his phone. “If we didn’t have a serious shot, would Jefferson be inviting us to lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... on the subject of Alex's pro bono cases did you know [Anthony Ramos played Sonny in In The Heights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJg4qP2PIag)?
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments as kudos are, as always, loved.


	7. Sell Your Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Jefferson, and a revelation or two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyyyy an update. I am doing nano right now, so I am hoping to be updating this more than once a month now. (Especially with Epithets almost completed)
> 
> Thanks to Oaxara for beta'ing, as always. 
> 
> IDK what else to say I've been waiting to write these scenes for a good while.

They met Jefferson at Bouley on Wednesday, two weeks before the trial was due to start. In that time, Alex had moved out of his office and into a hotel. No matter what he'd sent her, flowers and chocolates and cards, Eliza still wouldn't return his calls.

It sent a terrible feeling running down his spine. _She doesn't want you back. This isn't a fight where you cool off and get back together; she's leaving you and there's nothing you can do._

So if he dressed up a little to meet Jefferson face-to-smarmy-face, who could blame him? 

Even just walking into the restaurant felt like it was giving him hives. Looking at the fine white tablecloths and menus all in French, he couldn’t stop a little voice from whispering: _You don’t belong here_. No more than he belonged in the sheltered suburbia where John Laurens had grown up. He belonged in the McDonald’s down the road, a gutter rat eating off the dollar menu. But like hell was he not going to fight that. _I earned everything I have._ So Alex squared his shoulders, marched into the 'casually elegant' restaurant, and took the seat across from Jefferson with a nod of his head.

"Hamilton, Burr," Jefferson inclined his head to them both as Burr took a seat beside Alex moments later. "I took the liberty of ordering a French Sauvignon, they have a lovely wine list here."

_I'll be they do._ For a moment, Alex was tempted to throw caution into the winds and order a Sex on the Beach. But he swallowed the impulse.

Jefferson was still talking. "-not that I would frequent an establishment without a good French Sauvignon, truly, for lunch there's nothing finer than a dry white wine."

Burr just nodded along, breaking in as soon as he could. "How are the cases?"

"The cases?" A wide smile stretched across his face. "The cases are going well. I called you here, gentleman, to give you a fair warning. Lawyer to lawyer, mentor to student. If you take this case to trial, we will crush you."

Alex made a noise of disbelief.

"I'm serious." He was still smiling, that smarmy grin that Alex hated. The one that made him feel like he was a joke, one with a punchline still coming. "I'd hate to see two bright young lawyers like yourselves go down in a flaming ball of wreckage just because you hitched your horses to a sociopath."

"As we've noted," Alexander said sharply, "we believe your assessment of his character to be incorrect and will defend it in court."

"Sure you will. If you're talking about these..." And with a smooth motion he spread several photographs on the desk. All were of John Laurens. The first set were clearly from when he was younger, and all his sharp angles and nervous energy contained by hospital scrubs. Someone had photographed, very clearly, a stab wound in his abdomen. They had also taken the liberty of photographing his arms, and the hand-shaped bruises that ran up and down them. He looked to be about thirteen.

The second set were taken when John was processed after his arrest. The split lip was clearly visible, swollen and angry.

Maybe the biggest difference though, and an unintentional one at that, were the changes to John's demeanor. In the first photos his energy practically lept out of the photograph. He bristled with anxiety, a mixture of fear and resolute defence.

In the second set, there was no energy at all. He stood still for the photographs, almost unnaturally calm aside from the small frown in his brow. His abuser was dead, but he didn't look triumphant, or even relieved. Just resigned and somewhat sad. Alex wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had died in John Laurens that day. Wondered if it was his father, if after everything there was still enough feeling there to kill the light in his eyes and force him to grieve. 

He's pulled out of his reverie by a click of Jefferson's tongue. "You have many more, I'm sure. That's just a sample of what my investigator, Mads, was able to grab. But am I right to assume this is what you're leading with to try and knock off a first degree charge?"

_Yes._ Alex didn't say it. He wasn't going to give Jefferson the satisfaction. 

The silence was all Jefferson needed. "Let's make this easy then." He tapped the photos. "There is no way you can win this. None. I will embarrass both of you in that courtroom, and it will be an ugly stain on two promising careers. But," he held up on long finger, "I've been instructed to offer you a deal. Twenty-five with parole, he'll be out by the time he's thirty. That is more than fair, for a man who murdered his own father in cold blood."

Alex said nothing for a long moment. Then he reached out to spin the photos around, so Jefferson was looking at John's bruised and battered face. "Twenty-five years for defending himself from this?"

Jefferson let out a huff, unmoved. "Twenty-five years for killing his father, a supreme court justice and a good man."

Alex opened his mouth to reply when Burr's voice stopped him.

"Second degree. You don't have enough to prove first."

"Manslaughter?" Jefferson asked skeptically. 

" _Burr?_ " Alex stared openly. How were they even entertaining this? It wasn't a slam dunk, sure, but the evidence was thin and John Laurens deserved a better than ten years in prison.

"Ten years, out in seven." Burr said firmly. He reached over to tap the photos. "Or we send these to the media. Everyone will know exactly what kind of man Henry Laurens was, and we'll make sure the blame rests at the feet of the politicians who put him in power."

Jefferson's face soured. "If even one of those photos hits the media, this deal is withdrawn and we go to trial."

"They won't," Burr promised. "Second degree."

"First with parole." Jefferson shook his head. "Take it or leave it. I will give you a week to decide, then we take this to trial and put that boy away for the rest of his life."

"We'll tell him the deal," Alex broke in. "But I will advise him not to take it. We’ll roll the dice with a trial."

"So it seems." Jefferson knocked back the last of his wine and called for the check. He was out to door within five minutes, a swirl of purple coat and unfortunately good hair. He'd left the photos on the table.

Alex pulled one closer. He wasn't looking at the photo itself, but something else. Up in the top right hand corner someone had scrawled a date - presumably when the photo had been taken - and the initials HM. He’d recognise that handwriting anywhere.

"Aaron," he said slowly. Burr was slowly packing his food up, eyes firmly on what he was doing. "Aaron, how did Jefferson get these photographs?"

"From his investigator, I suppose. You heard him."

"And where," Alex's mouth was dry, "Did his investigator get photos signed by Herc?"

Burr put the food down. "What do you want from me, Alexander?"

"Did you give our case to Jefferson's investigator?"

"No." He looked peeved. "I gave him the photographs only. To let him know that if he didn't come here with a deal, we would make it known that a supreme court justice was a pedophile abuser of his own children."

"And did you consider what effect that would have on John?" John, who had asked only that the details of his abuse be kept out of the media as much as possible.

"Did you consider what effect life in prison would have on John?" Burr tapped the photos. 

“You said you had an ace up your sleeve! That you had a plan, a way out. And all the time… you meant this? You were going to sell him out to Jefferson?”

“This _is_ a way out,” Burr said shortly. “He’s going to prison, Alex. He’s guilty as charged and he’s going to prison. Nothing will change that. I am trying to ensure he spends as little time in prison as possible.”

“So you cut a deal,” Alex said. “And go back to… what? Defending racists? You get them off, but leave John in the dirt?” But it wasn’t Burr who had gotten Clinton off. Alex had done it. He had hated it, he had compensated by taking on pro bono cases, but he had still done it.

“We run a private practice, Alexander,” Burr said slowly. How was his voice so calm? Alex felt like screaming. “This is what it takes. It means working with people we disagree with, because they pay the bills. The money from Clinton pays your salary. John Laurens doesn’t.”

“Then maybe I don’t want to work here anymore.” As soon as he said the words, he wanted to take them back. Of course he wanted to work at a law firm, a prestigious place with his name on the door. To have privilege and respect, the foster kid who’d broken out of the system and made something of himself.

But… did he? He liked practicing law, but the private practice part? He didn’t like hunting down new clients. He didn’t like the clients themselves, privileged men who paid him to make their problems go away. He certainly didn’t feel respected by them. And he’d compensated with pro bono cases, taking on as many of them as he could without breaking. 

“I don’t want to work here any more,” Alex said it again, this time wondering. Marveling at it. _I don’t want to work here any more._

Burr put both hands on the table. “Alex. be reasonable. Just because one case doesn’t go your way-”

“It’s not that. It’s everything. Eliza was right.” He was working himself to the bone, and for what? So he could go to work in the morning without wanting to die? So he could look at the little placard that said _Hamilton and Burr_ on the door? Was that worth everything else in his life?

He stood. “Excuse me. There’s something I have to do.”

He took the subway, up to the gentrified part of Harlem. Got off at his stop and ran the rest of the way, his suit jacket flying behind him, back to the only house he’d ever called a home. “Eliza!” Three knocks on the door, as he always did.

She opened it. “What do you want, Alexander?”

“I was wrong,” he said it in a rush. “I was wrong about everything. That’s not the life I want, I want a life with you, where I do good things, where I make a difference.” 

She just watched him, eyes wary. “That’s very nice, Alex, but I don’t think it changes anything. You still-”

“I quit my job with Burr,” he said, and watched her eyes go wide.

“You-”

“Quit my job. With Burr.” Briefly he composed himself, fixing her with the most appealing stare he could. “You were right, my love, and I don’t deserve you in the slightest. But I’d like to try again.”

Eliza pulled her hand away from her mouth. “I think you’d better come inside.”

They talked for a long time. Then, when the words ran dry, they stopped talking and they started kissing. Alex pressed his lips all the way down Eliza’s neck, drinking in the sounds of her sighs. His Eliza, whose arms were home for him just as much as any job.

When he woke the next morning it was to the sweet perfume of her hair across his face. Alex smiled as he rolled over, kissing her neck until Eliza’s eyes fluttered open. “Alex?”

“Hey.” He grinned at her. “I have to go in to work. Just for a little while!” he added quickly, as she started to frown. “I have to wind down my cases with Burr, I can’t leave him hanging. And I have to see John through his trial.” He refused to be one of the people who abandoned that boy.

“And after that?” Eliza asked sleepily, one hand coming up to trace the panes of his face.

“I don’t know.” He wasn’t really thinking too far ahead on this. “I always fancied being a public defender. Defending the damned.”

She flushed, recognizing the words that she’d hurled at him in anger. But all she said was, “I think you’d be a great one.”

Which naturally merited a kiss. And it was very good, so he needed a second. And that one was terrible, their noses bumped, so they had to try it again (Only this time with Eliza on top).

So he was very late to work.

By the time he came in, sun was slanting through the large windows of the office. Alex paused for a moment, outside the door. _Hamilton and Burr._ He looked at the placard for a long moment, then pushed the door open.

Burr was sitting with several pieces of paper out on his desk, carefully transcribing from the tape. A task he usually had Alex do - Alex could write fast enough to keep up with the tape, instead of constantly pausing or rewinding. 

“I thought you quit,” Burr said, looking up. 

“Going to help you finish our cases, aren’t I?” Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’m not letting the Laurens case go.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear this then.” Burr swivelled in his chair to face him, nodding at the tape. “Theo’s agreed to testify.”

“Theo?” He didn’t remember a Theo-

“Theodosia Prevost.”

“Oh!” The neighbour. The one Burr had been- “Burr,” Alex said suspiciously, “how did you get _Mrs._ Prevost to testify?”

Burr just smiled his lawyer smile. “She’s on board, that’s all you need to know. Also, I believe she will be needing a fine divorce attorney shortly”

“Burr,” Hamilton said sharply, “you do remember that it’s illegal to sleep with a client?”

“Ah, Alexander,” Burr swiveled his chair back into place in front of the desk, “that is why I will be handing her case off to a seasoned divorce attorney. She needs the best help, after all.”

“Burr…” Alex just shook his head. So the man had found his heart after all. “I’m happy for you. Truely.”

Burr flushed, turning back to his papers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here - if you’re still determined to quit, you will need to get all of your active cases ready to be transferred to me.”

“I’m keeping the pro bonos,” Alex interrupted. “Seeing John Laurens through to trial, and keeping Sonny de la Vega. Laboy is finished, I got the disposition yesterday. All charges dropped.”

“Keep them.” Burr waved him away. “You were always the one who wanted to help the poor and downtrodden. Now you can.”

They worked in amiable silence. Alex was almost finished getting his files cleaned up - something that was far easier said than done - when the Laurenses arrived. John first, twitchy and anxious, and a more steady Martha behind him.

“Take a seat,” Burr said, waving them towards the low couch they kept in the office for just this reason. “We’ve been speaking to the prosecution, Jefferson-”

“And?” John asked sharply, at the same time Martha said, “Are they going to let him go?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms Laurens.” Burr’s face was a mask of serenity. Alex was sure his own face was fuming at the memory of Jefferson’s condescension. “However he did offer us a deal, and as your representation it’s our job to present it for you. The deal is twenty-five years with parole, so you could expect to be out in fifteen to twenty.”

“No,” Martha said immediately. Her hands, which were resting on John’s, gripped tightly. He didn’t protest. “They can’t do that. He was protecting us, he was in the right, they can’t take his life away for just-”

“Murder?” Burr asked pointedly. She fell silent. “Look, we’re required to bring you this deal but I don’t think you should take it. We can get better. The prosecution’s case is not particularly strong, and basically boils down to ‘he’s got motive and opportunity’. But they have no proof, John, that you were the one to kill Henry Laurens.”

Alex broke in. “He’s sending us this deal because he wants us to capitulate. A trial would air the dead senator’s dirty laundry all over the evening news, and the higher ups don’t want to admit they had a se-” John sent him a panicked look. _Right, Martha doesn’t know the extent of it._ “A predator and abuser amongst their ranks. So they offer us a deal before we can bring it to trial.”

That was the theory, at least. But if they DA’s office so badly wanted it not to go to trial, why had Jefferson not offered better? He’d been expecting negotiation, a back and forth of offers, but Jefferson hadn’t backed down at all. All that swagger… was he bluffing? Or did he have something they didn’t know about?

“Here’s what we’ve got,” he said, spreading out the large file. It was evidence exhibits, witness lists, statements. Together they formed a puzzle of a case, each interlocking to form their argument.

One - John’s status as a loner in the community, and his criminal record. Alex had hired a youth psychologist to come and talk about deviant behavior; how John was acting out as a cry for help, trying to call attention to the horror of his family life.

Two - The will, and the motive it brought. Alex would have to argue that one himself. That the murderer (whoever it was) was not reactionary at all. It had been thought out. It was certainly not something John could have put together in a day.

Three - The murder itself. There were no witnesses to the actual event. Theodosia and Martha, the closest to the event, were both testifying for the prosecution. He had no doubt that both ladies, smart and competent as they were, would hold up fine to cross examination. There were no prints that had to be explained away; it was John’s house, his prints were already on everything. There was no DNA evidence. 

He and Burr didn’t have to provide an alternate suspect, Alex knew. They didn’t have to prove that John _didn’t_ do it, just that Jefferson couldn’t prove that he _did_. Still, juries liked a reasonable explanation. “What are we saying about the death?” he asked, looking up. “It’s not like their home got broken into and a conveniently anonymous hoodlum fed Henry Laurens poison.”

Burr considered it. “He drank the poison himself. Over the shame of having a gay son, over the shame of realizing what he did to his son, whichever.”

John snorted. “The bastard would never stoop so low. He didn’t feel shame.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Alex shook his head. “We just need something the jury will believe.”

Looking over, he saw that Martha’s eyes were shiny with tears. “Ms Laurens?” And then, when she didn’t respond, “Martha?”

“I’m sorry.” She wiped furiously at her face, “I’m sorry. I can do this, I just- he was my father too.”

John was looking at her with concern. “Can we do this another time? I need to take my sister home.”

“It’s fine,” Martha said determinedly. “It’s all going to come out at the trial anyway, isn’t it? Better to do it here, where we can be ready.”

“Very wise,” Burr murmured. Still, Alexander kept the rest of the meeting short. They wrapped it up within fifteen minutes, and he was shaking their hands in the doorway.

John, unfortunately, was still tense. Martha took over for both of them. “Any last advice, before the trial?”

“Stay inside,” Burr said. “Really. Don’t talk to the press, don’t be photographed, don’t do anything that could damage the case. Just let them wonder.”

“We will do what we can. I do have a meeting downtown- With everything that’s happened, I’m finishing my senior year at home.”

“Understandable.” God, she was still in high school and was now the sole parent of her three younger siblings. All the more reason to keep John out of prison.

“See you at home,” She kissed John on the cheek, then disappeared out the door.

“Goodnight Alexander,” Burr said, giving him a nod on the way out. Alex sighed, ruffling through the papers on the desk. It was going to be a slog, trials were always a slog. He stared at the pages, trying to think of where Jefferson would strike. 

When he looked up, John was still standing there, fidgeting and watching him uncertainly. “John.”

Something was wrong. There was something _off_ about the expression on John’s face, something that twisted the edges. Something wrong in the way he moved, shoulders tense and eyes flicking between Alex’s face and the ground. “Thank you, for today.”

What to say to that? “It’s my job,” Alex said carefully. He took a step back, disguising it by walking over to his own desk by the window.

“More than that.” John shook his head, still approaching. “I wanted to say thank you.” His hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail but a few strands escaped, bouncing around his face as he moved closer.

Alex had a bad feeling about this. “You did,” he tried, to see if that would make the man back off. John was too close now, pressed in his personal space, eyes dark with intention. “John-”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish that thought, because John took his face in both hands and kissed him. A rough kiss, John’s chapped lips sliding off Alex’ facial hair. And then John let go and Alex pulled away.

John’s breathing sounded harsh in the quiet space, over-laboured with the same emotion that twisted his face. _Fear_ , Alex thought. He’s had a lot of practice reading faces. _Fear and disgust and pain._ “John…”

“Come on,” John cut him off. “Don’t pretend-” The revulsion on his face took over for a moment, until he could force it down. “Don’t pretend this isn’t how it works, okay?” One of his hands was resting high on Alex’s leg, and the other was gripping the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The hand on his leg reached higher, and Alex covered it with his own. “No. John, not like this.” This wasn’t a romance. This was what John felt had to happen in order to keep him out of prison. This was the plan of someone who was used to gritting his teeth and submitting to what he had to in order to survive.

“Why not?” John said harshly. “You said you like men. You said you left your wife. You’re taking on my case pro bono…” His hand abandoned Alex’s leg to start fiddling with his zipper.

Alex moved to grab both John’s hands by the wrist, then stopped as Laf’s voice came back to him. _John doesn’t like being touched without warning_. “Stop,” he said instead. “Pro bono means _free_ not with sex as payment. You don’t have to-”

“And if I want to?” John asked, slowly.

“Then it might be a different story,” Alex admitted. He met John’s gaze squarely. “But you don’t.”

John didn’t bother to refute that. Just looked steadily into Alex’s eyes.

Time to fix things. “I’m going to move now,” Alex said slowly. He reached down to move John’s hands away from his body, nudging him towards one of the chairs even as he sank into another one. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“You said you liked men,” John said simply, as if that fact explained why he had decided to proposition Alex against his own desires. “And you left your wife. I thought-” He frowned, clearly troubled. “There’s always a reckoning. No one does stuff for free.”

“Well, this time someone is,” Alex said shortly. “John, what your father did to you was awful, but it doesn’t have to be this way-”

“Just sing kumbaya and pray away the gay?” John raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“No, but to be comfortable in who you are and what you want-”

“Right, message received. From you and fifty other pamphlets I saw at the nurse's’ office. I understand, I just… got confused.” He shook his head, minutely, then peered at Alex. “You want to know something funny?”

Not really. “Sure,” Alex said.

“I almost want to now. You’re alright, Alex.” And he smiled, one side of his mouth turned upwards in a rueful sort of grin.

Alex can’t help but let out a huff of laughter, one that quickly dies away into seriousness. “You’re a very attractive young man, John, but the answer would still be no. In another life, maybe, but… you are my client, you are in an emotionally vulnerable position, and I’m pretty sure my wife would burn me alive if I cheated on her.”

“You got back together with her then?” John’s eyebrow rose. 

Alex nodded. _And this time, I won’t screw it up._

“Hey, Alex?”

“Yes?”

“That stuff you told me before, about you being in foster care and hating yourself for feeling grateful… does your wife know all that?”

Alex was pretty sure he knew where this was going. “She knows most of it. I don’t feel the need to talk about my past with everyone, but Eliza’s a different story. And she’s never judged me for where I came from.”

“Okay.” 

Alex thought briefly of the young man John had mentioned before, a boyfriend that was no longer returning his calls. “Not everyone will be good about it, but anyone that’s worth being with-”

John cut him off. “I know. I don’t need a lesson.”

“I’m not trying to give you a lesson. Just talk about it.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m done talking.” John stands, turns to go.

“Wait!” Alex couldn’t shake the thought that if he let John go now his chance will be lost forever. “Just talk to me for a minute. Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Tell me what happened that day - the day you killed your father. Help me understand.”

In such an emotionally vulnerable place, alone in Alex’s office, would John finally speak? Alex saw him hesitate, for just a moment.

But he should have known better. John was steel. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I killed him because he’s a monster, because he got some sick enjoyment out of hurting me.”

“John…” Alex reached out. For just a moment his fingers brushed John’s cheek and John leaned into the touch. Then John pulled away, opening the door and slipping out without a sound.

Alex’s head hit the desk with a thud. God, why was he so stupid? Sometimes it felt like two steps forward and three steps back with John. He reached out and picked up the phone, dialling Burr.

“Alexander. I hope something’s on fire or otherwise an emergency.”

“John propositioned me.”

There was a long, pregnant pause on the line. “Alexander,” Burr said slowly. “If this is you confessing to mucking up an attorney-client relationship in a _very_ illegal way…”

“No!” Who did Burr think he was? “God, no. He was hurting and scared. He needed something, I just don’t know what to give him.” But Burr would know. Burr, who had lived through similar and come away still able to form healthy relationships.

“Trust,” Burr said simply. “And time. He’s not a kid that needs to be coddled, he’s an adult who can make his own choices.”

“Sure, but if he’s feeling this way-”

“I assure you, he’s probably had those emotions long before you walked into his life,” Burr said slowly. “Just concentrate on what you can do for him.”

“The trial.” Oh god, the trial. Where they were walking in with the most elementary defense strategy possible - _you don’t have enough evidence to convict_. It was a good strategy, provided they had correctly anticipated Jefferson’s moves. And, without an alternative suspect, it was pretty much the only strategy they had. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander. Do try to get some sleep.” _Do try not to muck everything up, Alexander, or I’ll sell our client to the wolves for an easy disposition._

The People vs John Laurens started in two weeks, and Alex was starting to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to scream [here is my tumblr](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And, as always, comments and kudos are loved.


	8. The Trial (Prosecution)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two days of the trial - some wins, some losses, some big surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man this chapter was hell. Don't let me write anything so far outside my field of expertise again ok? I did play fast and loose with some things, mostly court protocol, when it was convenient. This is not meant to be a perfect representation of a trial (Do you know how boring real life court is? So boring.)
> 
> Thanks always to my love, who betas this even when she's drowning in schoolwork.

In Alex’s opinion, the best feeling in the world was on the first day of a trial. Even with a trial that made him as anxious as this one, by the day they started any lingering worry had turned into a jittery anticipation. Enough worry; it was time to _do something_ about it. The slog was over - the jury was selected, the witnesses were prepped, the evidence had been cataloged. Prosecution and defense had lined up their soldiers, waiting to march them into battle. The prize: Freedom. Reputation. The integrity of the justice system itself. 

“Good luck today,” Eliza said as she handed him a coffee. “Who’s your judge?”

Alex smiled. “Guy by the name of Washington. Good trial lawyer, tough but fair. He won’t let Jefferson get away with anything.”

“Good. If he does, kick him in the nuts.” She kissed him goodbye. “I thought I might take tomorrow off, come and watch.”

“Eliza-” He was touched. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Considering it’s your last big trial as a defense lawyer? I wanted to.”

He was already in the process of making the move to public defender. It meant less recognition, which was annoying, and less pay - which would have _sucked_ if they didn’t have Eliza’s huge inheritance. But it was the right thing to do. He knew in heart heart it was the right decision, the first step to making changes in his life.

When he made it to the courtroom, Burr was already there. So was John Laurens. Someone - likely his sister - had cleaned him up for the event, styling his long hair and dressing him in a nice suit. It only made him look more uncomfortable. He relaxed, though, when Alex approached. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Alex said back, “You ready for today?”

“No glaring, no speaking,” John recited dutifully. “Just look regretful and serious.”

“Or indignant, if you want. Righteously prepared to defend yourself. But never angry.” Angry or unstable would kill them. He turned to Burr. “We’ve got everything ready?”

“Ready,” Burr confirmed. “We’re just waiting for Jefferson.”

Alex looked up, to the bench where Judge Washington sat. He looked tall, imperial, commanding. _The General_ , they called him, for the strict military discipline he enforced in the courtroom.

John, in contrast, looked positively meek. They had been coaching him for the past week - _never show anger to the jury, only indignation at the fact that the prosecution is lying. Never glare. Look sad, if you can_ \- At this Alex had stopped. He could not, would not, ask John to pretend to mourn for his father. _Think about how much you want to go home to your family. The jury needs to see that vulnerability._

Vulnerability wasn’t happening, clearly, but that was fine. Alex could work with outwardly submissive. 

The trial was set to begin at 9:00. At 8:58, Jefferson swanned into the courtroom with a Starbucks coffee in hand. “Sorry, Your Honour, line was long.”

“That’s fine.” Alex was surprised to see Washington smile. “Finally back from France, I see.”

“Couldn’t bring me back for anything else,” Jefferson replied easily, and shook Washington’s hand.

“What’s going on?” Alex hissed to Burr.

Burr’s mouth was set in a thin line. “They’re friends.” 

“ _What?!_ ”

He made a short, angry sound. “Jefferson and Washington. They go way back.”

“That’s a conflict of interest-”

“-Not enough to get a change. We’re just going to have to deal with it, so don’t do anything stupid.” Their discussion was cut off by Washington calling the court to order. 

Jefferson’s opening statement was by the book. He took the jury through the evidence, making sure to point out the lack of alternate suspects. For almost thirty minutes he walked the jury through the state’s case.

“Now, the defense will tell you some very hurtful things about Henry Laurens. Shocking things. But it is important to remember: Henry Laurens is not on trial here. Whatever his sins may be, proven or unproven, rest with God now. We are here to try his son for the crime of murder. This is a straightforward case: open and shut. John Laurens, whatever his reasons, murdered his father.

“He murdered his father in cold blood, while the rest of Henry’s family hid upstairs in fear. This was the act of a predator, a psychopath who lashes out when he doesn’t get his way. A selfish, spoiled child with a history of criminal acts. A monster who needs only a hair-trigger to strike. The only safe place for John Laurens is behind bars for the rest of his life, and I trust that after reviewing the evidence you will agree with me. Thank you for your time.”

Washington nodded, as if to add punctuation to the end of the statement. “Mr. Hamilton, are you planning to reserve your statement?”

Reserving a statement was an option he usually didn’t go for - it meant the defense wanted to hold their opening statement until the defense portion of the trial, rather than presenting it at the beginning. Alex had always believed it looked bad for the defense, to let the prosecution speak and not strike back. But Burr had been adamant that they needed to stay flexible. 

Alex stood up. “Yes, Your Honour, we are. As painful as it is to hear the prosecution spouting such slanted lies, we believe our client would best be served when the defense can immediately back up their claims with evidence.”

“Very well. Mr. Jefferson, call your first witness.”

Their first witness of the day was the 911 operator, Kitty Livingston. She was a little thing, a frail-looking blonde who nonetheless sat up straight in the witness stand as she described the 911 call John had made. Then Jefferson had them play the tape.

_My sister's upstairs with our half siblings. I didn't want them to see._

_To see what, John?_

_To see him die. He's dead. He's really dead. I'm sorry, I-_

It was a point for the prosecution. John, while not actually confessing to the crime, had still strongly implicated himself. But it was also a point for the defense. Burr had insisted it be played all the way through, and the court listened to John’s broken words and hitched breathing as he struggled not to cry. It was something they could use, for sure. 

“Ms Livingston,” Jefferson asked, “Can you confirm for me what we just heard? John Laurens stating he did not want his siblings to see his father _die_?”

Kitty consulted the transcript before her. “Yes. That’s what it says.”

“Die, in the present tense?”

“Yes.”

“Unlike the following lines, where he uses past tense to describe his father as dead? Would this not imply some knowledge of what was going to happen to Henry Laurens that-”

“Objection!” Alex shouted. “Information the witness cannot speculate on!”

“Sustained,” Washington said. “Mr. Jefferson, is there anything else you’d like to ask the witness?”

“No, sir,” Jefferson said meekly, sitting down.

Alex consulted Burr, for a moment, then passed on the opportunity to cross-examine. John’s emotions were clear, and that was all they wanted.

Kitty Livingston was followed up by two police officers. They confirmed that John had indeed left the house with his hands up, and been arrested right there on the front lawn. No, they stated, there had been no evidence of any intruder in the house. Henry’s body was covered, then Martha and the children had been brought out to a squad car. At this point, one of them got halfway through describing how John had repeatedly asked after his siblings, only to be cut off by Jefferson. Alex seized his chance on the cross.

“Sir, can you elaborate about John’s mental state while he was in handcuffs? I believe my honoured opponent cut you off.”

“Well sure,” the officer obliged. “He kept asking after Martha. Is Martha ok, make sure they don’t see the body, are they somewhere safe, you know. That sort of thing.”

“So he was very concerned for their welfare, in your opinion?”

“Bloody obsessed with it. Like it was the only thing that mattered to the kid.”

“Thank you. And John did not implicate himself in the crime while he was in your custody?”

“Not that I heard.”

“And you found no witnesses to the event?”

“As I said, the rest of Henry’s kids were all upstairs. Right where _he_ asked them to be. I consider that evidence enough.”

“The court does not agree with you, I’m afraid. Was there any evidence that John had been then one to put the poison in the cup?”

“No.”

“Were you able to find any more poison itself?”

“No.”

“Do you have anything to connect Mr. Laurens to this crime, beyond the fact that he was, as the phrase goes, ‘in the right place at the right time’?” No answer. “Would all of your evidence be considered circumstantial, then?”

The cop glared, spitting out finally, “You would have to ask the prosecutor,”

“No further questions, Your Honour.” He sat down beside Burr, trying not to look too smug.

“Where are you going with that bit about John?” Burr hissed.

Alex just shrugged. “Trying to unbalance Jefferson. Bring sympathy to our client, disrupt their narrative that he’s a psychopath.” He was pleased that Jefferson _did_ look ruffled, shifting and glancing down at his papers. _Take that you smug bastard_.

“Alex,” Burr said patiently. “Remember, guilty for killing his father because of abuse is _still guilty_. That’s not our strategy.”

“You can _shove_ your strategy _up your-_ ” He was cut off by the next witness being called. Washington did not like court to drag.

Next came the legal expert who had helped Henry Laurens alter his will. Under Jefferson’s hand the nervous, twitchy man confirmed that Henry had indeed asked him to disinherit John several days before the murder. 

Burr took the cross examination, smooth as silk. “Mr. Monroe, where did the money go?”

“Sir?” He looks confused.

“The money,” Burr repeated patiently, “that Henry Laurens asked you not to will to John. Where did he will it to instead? A charity?”

“No, sir.” Monroe blinked up at him perplexedly. “His children?”

“All his children equally? None for John, and the other four each get a quarter?”

“No sir. A third for each of Mary Laurens, Henry Laurens Jr, and James Laurens.”

“And none for their elder sister Martha?”

“Her inheritance remains intact, but was not added to.”

“Thank you, Mr. Monroe. Now, did Henry Laurens say why he was disinheriting his eldest son?”

Monroe shifted on the stand, and Alex grinned. _That’s a winner right there_. 

“Mr. Monroe?” Burr prompted.

“The witness will answer,” Washington cut in dryly when he still paused.

“Well, ah, he said John was willful. Disrespectful. Impossible to deal with.” But that wasn’t all, Alex could tell. Monroe looked too uncomfortable.

“Just that?” Burr was on him like a hound. “Many men have disrespectful children.”

“Well he, ah,” Monroe hesitated again, then looked at Washington. “The thing is, Your Honour, I don’t think it’s polite to say in open court. He said no son of his would be a - and then he said a word used to refer to gay people that I would not like to repeat in court.”

Burr held up a hand. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe, I think we get the picture. Throughout all of your interactions with Henry Laurens, did he ever express fear of the defendant? Worry?”

Monroe thought long and hard. “Not really, Your Honour. I think John Laurens just snapped.”

“Just snapped?” Burr repeated, raising one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that be contradicting the evidence presented to the court so far? Poison is not the weapon of an impulse crime, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Objection!” Jefferson popped up. “Speculation!” 

“Withdrawn,” Burr said without missing a beat. “No further questions.”

“Look at Jefferson’s face,” Alex whispered as soon as Burr sat down, "just look at him.” Jefferson was flushed and glaring, fiddling with a paper in front of him. 

“He’s unbalanced,” Burr said. “It’s what we need. Just stay the course.”

They broke for lunch after that, Lafayette showing up with pitas for everyone. Alex and Burr showed off their cramped little office, eating at their desks as John and Lafayette took the loveseat. “How’s it going?” Lafayette asked Alex earnestly. “I watched the whole thing, but,” he shook his head, “I do not know one side of a courtroom from another.”

“They don’t have sides,” John muttered. “It’s not a boat.”

“Don’t they?” Lafayette turned. “The things you learn!”

“Yes, being in jail will do that to you,” John snorted.

“It’s going well!” Alex interrupted him. “Well, not swimmingly or anything. But it’s going alright” As per the plan.” They had to just keep following the plan, hammering the point home: Reasonable doubt. They could not prove John killed his father. They had no witnesses.

As they return to the courtroom, Alex saw Washington conversing with Jefferson. The sight made his blood boil. “Your Honour!” 

Both parties stopped. Turned. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?” Washington asked dryly.

“I-” He hadn’t exactly made a plan beyond wrecking their little cosy up. “How was your summer?”

There was a long, excruciatingly awkward pause. Then Jefferson laughed. “Really? Is that really the best you can do?”

Washington shifted uncomfortably.“Take a seat, Mr. Jefferson,” he ordered. “Mr. Hamilton, yourself as well. I’m calling this court to order.”

As they moved to sit down, Jefferson made sure his shoulder bumped Alex’s. “I warned you. Enjoy what remains of your career.” Jefferson took his place and stood up to say, “Your Honour, the prosecution calls James Reynolds to the stand.”

“ _What?!_ ” Alex gaped, for a moment. _Reynolds? Why?_ What wasn’t he seeing?

Burr was faster. “Your Honour!” he called, springing to his feet. “Who is this witness and why was the defense not informed earlier?”

“Your Honour,” Jefferson said smoothly. “Mr. Reynolds only recently came forward with evidence about the case. He was jailed alongside John Laurens and had significant conversations with him that add to the case.”

“A jailhouse snitch,” Burr said wonderingly. “Your Honour, the defense rejects-” 

Alex motioned quickly for his attention. “No we don’t. Ask for a recess.”

Burr shook his head slightly.

“Trust me,” Alex insisted. “Recess.”

It earned him a glare, but Burr straightened up to say, “Your Honour, the defense would like our objections to such prosecutorial games noted in the record. We ask for a brief recess to consult our client.”

“Granted,” Washington ordered immediately. “Jefferson, I am inclined to agree with them. You’re on thin ice.”

Burr marched right over to John, nodding towards the hallway. Alex followed them just in time to hear Burr say, “You told some stranger that you killed your father? And you don’t even tell us?”

“I didn’t say anything to anyone,” John shot back. His chin jutted up, angry and defiant. “I didn’t say anything. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s lying.”

“If you expect me to think-”

“He’s lying, Burr,” Alex interrupted. “I helped put Reynolds away for beating his wife. They were both trying to charge each other on assault. I got her off, and the prosecution used my materials to get a conviction on him. He’s awaiting sentencing.”

“So it’s your fault he went away,” Burr huffed. “We can get him thrown out on that.”

“No no no,” Alex shook his head. “Let Jefferson bring him. Let me do the questioning.”

“Fine, I’m just going to make a few calls, get something we can use-” Burr stepped away, already pulling out his slim silver phone. Alex tried to give John an encouraging smile, but he got only a tight-lipped one in return.

Of their fifteen minute recess, Burr used almost all of it talking urgently into the phone and even running upstairs to get something printed. Finally, as they walked back he shoved a piece of paper at Alex and sat down.

Alex scanned in briefly. _Yes_. This was something he could use. 

Reynolds looked different than Alex remembered; it was clear prison hadn’t been kind to him. His head was shaved and his eyes were cold as he swore himself in.

“Please state your name for the court.”

“James Reynolds.”

“And you are currently incarcerated?”

“No sir, I’m awaiting sentencing. Got into a little fight with my wife, only the jury liked the story she was spinning with those pretty little lips of hers.” He had a swagger, Reynolds. Liked to play the court like it was one big game. It wasn't going to win him any favours today though - two jury members were looking down at him disdainfully, and one was actually clutching at her necklace.

“Right. So you were in jail. How do you know the defendant?”

“We were in lockup together. Not close, mind you, but you all sit together at mealtimes and things. We talked.”

“And what did you talk about, Mr. Reynolds?”

“All kinds of stuff. I told him about my wife, ask if he had a woman of his own and if he did not to bother with one. Women, they screw you every time.” He looked at the jury, as if expecting them to laugh. Not a single one was smiling.

“And did you talk about why you were there?” Jefferson’s smile was smug. He had smelled the kill.

“Well sure. I told him the whole bit, my little spat with Maria. Then I asked what he was in for. He was in, he said, for killing his father.”

A pause. “Did he saw he had killed his father?” Jefferson asked. “Or just that he was accused of it.”

“That he was guilty,” Reynolds maintained. “I asked if he’d done it, and if so why? I believe children should respect their elders, sir. He said his dad beat him and he came back from school just to kill him. Poisoned him and watched him die.”

“And Mr Reynolds, you have not been offered anything by the prosecution for your testimony here today?”

“No, sir.”

“No DA’s office calling you?”

“No, sir.”

“No promises on a lenient sentencing?”

“I just wanted to do the right thing, put that man away.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. No further questions.”

Alex stood. “Mr. Reynolds, do I look familiar to you?”

As James Reynolds turned to look at him, Alex saw the anger in his eyes. It was covered up by showmanship and swagger, but the bitterness was unmistakable. _This was deliberate, then. Good._

“You look like any other lawyer.”

“You didn’t recognize me from anywhere? Like, say, your attempt to sue your wife?”

There was a murmur in the courtroom. 

“Objection, Your Honour,” Jefferson tried. “This has no relation to the case-”

“The witness will answer,” Washington cut him off. “I’m curious to hear this as well.”

Reynolds shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess? Conflict of interest is a pretty big thing to guess at.”

“All bottom feeders look the same I suppose.”

“Your Honour,” Alex turned to judge Washington. “I represented Mr. Reynolds’ then-wife when he tried to charge her with assault. All charges were dismissed, but with the evidence I uncovered in that trial she won her case against him.”

Washington raised a single eyebrow. “Mr. Reynolds, is this true?”

“Well, ah, in a sort of sense-”

“Your Honour,” Jefferson cut him off quickly. “My client takes the fifth.”

“That’s fine,” Alex said, moving on. “Mr. Reynolds, is it true you were arrested in 2011 for securities fraud?”

“Yes, sir. All charges were dropped though.”

“Is it true they were dropped after you testified in an assault case that you heard the defendant confess while in lockup?”

“Yes.” He suddenly saw where the conversation was going and tried to backtrack. “It’s not my fault that I’m a friendly guy. I like to do the right thing.”

“And is it true, that after he was convicted with your evidence, he was later found to be not guilty?”

“I-” Reynolds hesitated. 

“Jefferson!” Judge Washington barked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your Honour, the prosecution was unaware of-”

“Enough.” Alex could practically _feel_ the judge’s fury. “I am putting this court in recess. Prosecution and Defense will approach at a sidebar.”

They approached as the jury filed out. Washington wasted no time turning on Jefferson. “Thomas, what the hell is this?”

“Your Honour,” he replied, all practiced smoothness, “I had no idea-”

“You didn’t run a basic search on him?” Alex interrupted.

It earned him three glares from Burr, Jefferson, and the judge. “Mr. Hamilton, please control yourself. That being said, Thomas, he’s not wrong. What stopped you from finding this out yourself _before_ you made a farce out of this courtroom?”

“The prosecution did not feel it necessary to examine charges he _filed_ , only what he was charged _with_ , so we were unaware of his connection to Mr. Hamilton. As for his other charge… we ran his name only in New York, and that crime was committed in Philadelphia. We had no way of knowing.”

 _No way of doing your damn job_ , Alex thought bitterly. “Your honour, the defense would like to point out that Mr. Reynolds surely perjured himself and such a charge should be pursued. This entire trial has been a farce, with the prosecution’s lack of evidence leading them to put a poorly-vetted liar on the stand.”

“Lack of evidence?” Jefferson questioned, too soft for Washington to hear. Alex tensed as the silky words registered. 

“Yeah,” he shot back. “Putting a liar on the stand.”

Jefferson only raised an eyebrow, turning back to Washington.

“Gentlemen, I think the best course of action for this trial may be a disposition. What was the last offer made?” This was directed at Jefferson, who flushed.

“Twenty five years with parole.”

“And the defense?”

Burr said stiffly, “We would like to file a motion to dismiss due to lack of evidence. It’s clear the prosecution is building a house of cards around this crime, and dismissing it would save this court two days of letting him finish it and then blowing it down.”

“Councillor?” Washington asked.

“Your Honour, I do believe this case is sound. We reject any motions to dismiss charges and beg the court’s indulgence for a single mishap.”

There was a long pause, as all three lawyers stared at Washington. Finally he sighed and said “Very well, we will continue. But you’re on a short leash, Jefferson.” He caught Alex’s eye. “Both of you are.”

The next day proceeded without incident. Alex was happy to see Eliza sitting beside Lafayette in the audience. Martha had slipped in just as the trial was starting back up, standing by the door with solemn eyes that missed nothing.

The witnesses of the morning were short but plentiful, various people who each contributed a piece to the story Jefferson was building. A police officer talked about arresting John at various points in his life, followed up by several child psychologists who explained that the loss of his mother had clearly made something in John snap.

There wasn’t much for either Alex or Burr to do. They took potshots when they could, calling out inaccuracies and reminding the jury of the lack of evidence connecting John to the crime in which he had been charged.

After several hours they broke for lunch. The defense team all went together, far enough away that they wouldn't run into any jurors and accidentally bias the case. John was very quiet, speaking only to Martha and Alex.

Lafayette more than made up for it though, joking with Eliza and asking Alex about his new job. Talking to everyone, it seemed, except Burr.

"Prosecution at twelve o'clock," Eliza said suddenly. Everyone turned.

Jefferson waltzed into the restaurant like it was a prize fighting ring, Madison at his side. He looked over the entire restaurant, face morphing into a smile as his eyes landed on their table.

"Gentlemen. Are you enjoying lunch? Do avoid the garlic bread here, I find the gluten gives me hives."

"He says, after he ate an entire seafood linguini at our last meeting," Alex muttered. "What do you want, Jefferson?"

The smile grew. "Why, only to herald your defeat of course. To hear your eulogy. Was it worth it? Taking this case, for free, only to lose?"

"Nothing's won yet-" Alex started, furiously. Across the table, everyone was glaring.

"Jefferson," Eliza said pleasantly, drawing everyone’s attention to her. "I do believe I met your wife the other day. Martha, right? And you left her here while you were in France all those months? A pity."

Jefferson flushed. "Well- I had business to do. Lots of business. Martha doesn't like it."

"Oh I heard she got up to _plenty_ of 'business' while you were away... But then, I heard you did the same. You must have an arrangement, pardon me..." Alex watched in amazement. Eliza was perfectly composed, her face drawn up in apologetic surprise even as she landed blow after blow. "But what _is_ the age of consent in France again? Tsk, you don't need a lawyer for yourself, do you?" 

"That is-" Jefferson sputtered. "Ma'am-"

"That's ‘Ms Schuyler’, thank you."

"Ms Schuyler, I have no idea what you-"

"Oh?" She raised a single eyebrow. "Pity." 

"Jefferson, if you have nothing to say I'm going to have to ask you to stop harassing my client and his friends." Alex said crisply. 

Burr smiled his chameleon smile, picking up the charge. "As for the trial, we'll see what your witnesses have to say. How well did you vet the others?" Seeing the flash of uncertainty cross Jefferson's face, his smile only grew. "Not well enough then. You'd better go, I bet the DA's office doesn't want any more of the prosecution's witnesses perjuring themselves."

Jefferson stared at all of them for a long moment, then turned on his heel and bolted for the door- only to crash into a waitress half his size.

"Sorry, sir! Can I get you a ta-"

"Your garlic bread gives me hives!" he shouted at her, then took off out the door.

"Excuse me for a moment," Lafayette said, as the table erupted into laughter. He walked over to the waitress, who still looked a little shocked, pulling a 20 from his wallet.

"Rich people." Alex shook his head in amazement. "Burr, what did you mean about witness perjuring themselves?"

"I was lying," Burr said, with great satisfaction. "Let him spend his whole lunch trying to find out who's the rat. He doesn't have one."

And the table erupted into laughter again. Even John was smiling, though he still seemed uncomfortable. 

"And my Betsey, the most savage woman outside a courthouse." Alexander grinned at her. "I hope you know that I love you."

"Gross!” Lafayette yelled. So of course Alex had to lean over and kiss her to make a point.

“Alright, alright.” Burr said. “We need to settle down. Get your professional faces on.”

Alex snorted. “Sure, Burr. Go hook up with another witness.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Burr said, flushing. 

On the way back inside the courtroom, John pulled him aside. “I need a favour.”

“Sure,” Alex said, before he could wonder if he should have thought twice about it. He glanced about: Lafyatte had Eliza on one arm and Martha on the other, chattering away. Burr marched in front of them. He and John were alone.

“Can you come over on the weekend?” 

Alex looked over, startled. John just shuffled his feet. “It’s Jem’s birthday on Saturday. Martha rented a Chuck-E-Cheese but… there’s not a lot of parents who’ll let their kids go if I’m there.”

Of course not, he was charged with murder. Poor Jem was probably going to have a sparse birthday indeed.

“Just a few hours,” John pleaded. “Sing happy birthday, you don’t even have to get him anything.”

“Eliza and I would love to come,” Alex cut him off. “And we’ll bring a present. What time is the party?”

“Two pm on Saturday.”

“We’ll be there.” He rested a hand on John’s shoulder, just for a moment. “Let’s go win this thing.”

Back in the courtroom, Jefferson announced he had one final witness to call. “The state calls Elizabeth Kortright to the stand.”

Alex rolled his eyes when he saw John’s incredibly rude neighbour, the one that had slammed a door in his face and announced John should go to prison. “Oh, this is going to be good.” He was happy to see John merely looked indignant.

“Ms Kortright,” Jefferson said as soon as she’d been sworn in. “Can you explain your relationship to the defendant?”

“We don’t have one. I would never want to form a relationship with that horrible boy.”

“You misunderstand me, Ms Kortright. How do you know the defendant?”

“Well, sir, he’s my neighbour. We live on the property beside theirs. Henry used to come over for tea, he’s very good friends with my husband James.”

“Being such good friends, you must have known all the Laurens children.”

“Yes, sir. The two older ones were just horrible, had too much of their mother in them. She was a very willful woman.” 

At this, Alex noted, John’s hands clenched down on the witness stand. _Keep it together, John_. Lashing out would only confirm to the jury that she was correct.

Kortright was still talking. “Both of her children were just as willful. John especially, probably because he was a boy. But he was always breaking the law. He’s attacked people.” She said it as though it was a shocking secret.

“Attacked people?” Jefferson made a show of looking surprised. “How so?”

“Assault. You know. Hitting them and things. He attacked his own father a few days before he killed him!”

“The prosecution would like to call attention to Exhibit C, a police report for being called to the Laurens’ family home three days before the murder to investigate a domestic disturbance. No charges were filed.”

“He’s a monster!” Kortright dived right back in. By now, John was opening glaring daggers at her. “He’s done other things too. Breaking and entering, shoplifting - he’s a criminal. He killed his father.”

“This is ridiculous.” Alex murmured to Burr. “A farce. How long are they going to let that woman shout hysterics?”

“A little bit longer,” Burr replied in the same undertone. “Look at Washington.”

Washington did indeed look displeased at the proceedings. Jefferson had made a very simple mistake, hoping theatrics would win over the jury. Instead it was going to backfire on him.

“You seem very sure that John Laurens committed the murder,” Jefferson said conversationally. “Is this based only on your previous interactions with him?”

“Some, sir, but-” and here she hesitated for a moment, just long enough to draw it out,“I saw something.”

“You saw something?”

“Alex,” Burr hissed. “What’s going on?”

But Alex didn’t have an answer. They had been unable to interview Ms Kortright, she had slammed the door in his face.

“The night of the murder,” Ms Kortright said tremulously, “I was sitting by the glass doors drinking my tea before bed. The lights were all on next door, so I had a clear view. I saw John, and I thought that was strange.”

“Why did you think it was strange? Did he not live there?”

“Yes, but he’d gone away to Columbia. We thought we were rid of him. So I was watching, because I didn’t trust him and I was worried about those young kids in the house. The back doors of the kitchen face my doors, so I could see everything. I saw him brew a pot of coffee, and I saw him put poison in it. And then I saw him take it and walk into the living room, where I lost sight of him.”

Oh.

Alex looked at Burr, seeing his own horror reflected back. Their whole strategy was based on there being no way to connect John to the murder. Their entire strategy down the drain…

He looked over at John, who was still trying his best to glare. But now there was uncertainty in his face. It was the first flashes of fear as they all watched their defense go up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BET YOU DIDN'T THINK WE'D BE SEEING NASTY OLD NEIGHBOUR AGAIN. Don't say I didn't warn yah about how wild a ride this was going to be, but there _are_ still two more chapters of this thing + epilogue :)
> 
> In the meantime you can find me [on tumblr](thellamaduo.tumblr.com) and come chat with me there because I like friends.
> 
> Next chapter is Jemmy's birthday party, and one final revelation for Alex. The answer to the question he's been asking since day one - why?


	9. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A respite: James Laurens' birthday party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead I swear just dealing with crap. Hopefully will not be as long with the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks always to my love, who betas this even when she's drowning in schoolwork.

Emerging from the courtroom, John and his team were silent. There was nothing to be said. There was nothing to be done. They had watched their case go up in flames.

Martha Laurens was the first to reach them, flinging herself into John’s arms with a sob. He pulled her close for the briefest moment, then disentangled himself to address Alex with a voice so short and clipped that it betrayed no emotion. “The weekend still good?”

Jem’s birthday party. Alex swallowed and nodded.

“Good. We’re going home then.” He bit his lip for a moment, like he was going to say something important. But all he did was shake his head.“Thanks for trying.” He reached out to Martha and they walked back to the car.

“Alex…” Burr reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Alex shrugged away. 

“Damn him,” Alex shook his head, furious at the _uselessness_ of it all. “Damn Jefferson for being right. Damn him for doing this, for all of them to do this-”

“We’ll figure it out,” Burr murmured, as if pointless platitudes were going to calm him down. “Come back with me, we’ll get out the good scotch like we used to when court didn’t go our way.”

Alex let out a hollow laugh. “I can’t. I have to go to Jemmy Laurens’ birthday party tomorrow and try not to tell him he’ll have graduated college by the time he sees his brother again.” He felt like crying. “Why did we do it, Burr? Why did we even try?”

Burr gave him a strange look. “Because someone had to.”

With Alex despondent, Eliza took charge. She marched him back home, sat him at the table and made him eat supper. Then she shoved him into the shower, into warm clothes, and into their bed. “Fall apart later. There is a child’s birthday party tomorrow, and we are going to ensure it’s a good one.”

Alex knew she was right. This was about John, not him. But as he tried to sleep, he found it nearly impossible to get the image of John’s grim, defeated eyes out of his mind. 

_We will not fail. The system will not fail. There has to be something we can do._

The next morning he crept out of bed before Eliza had so much as stirred, taking the subway down to the office at the crack of dawn. When he unlocked the door he found Burr already there.

“Couldn’t sleep either, I assume,” Burr said, indicating his stack of papers as if he always spent the early hours of the morning working on hopeless cases. “Take some. I’m looking over case precedents of patricide, every case in the last thirty years in the United States. There has to be something.” His face was inscrutable. Alex wondered how long he had been here, pouring over old files to try and find an answer.

“Burr…”

“If there’s nothing there, I have the matricide files as well,” Burr spoke over him. “Take a stack and get to work. There has to be a defense in here somewhere, someone has to have gotten off.”

For a long moment Alex said nothing, just stared at his longtime friend. Trying to keep a hold of the emotion pricking at his eyes. If both of them were willing to work until they found an answer, surely there had to be one out there.

He pulled a file closer. John Mahoney, nineteen, shot and killed his father. Ultimately convicted of aggravated manslaughter, based on testimony of a battered child syndrome expert…

“That might be it,” Alex murmured. “Burr, what about battered child syndrome? Like battered wife syndrome, we argue that it was self defense because the abuse created a constant state of danger.”

Burr was already shaking his head. “A state of danger he willingly walked into. Self defense victims are obliged to attempt retreat. John gave that up when he moved away for seven months and then came home to visit. He walked right back into a situation in which he would need to kill to defend himself.”

“If we actually got a reason for that…” Because John was still refusing to explain any part of his side of the story.

Burr shrugged. “If you can get it out of him.” When Alex frowned, he let out a sigh. “He doesn’t talk to me, Alexander. For better or worse, God help me, he trusts _you_.”

“That reminds me,” Alex said as he flipped through to a new case file. Cody Posey, fourteen, convicted of voluntary manslaughter for murdering his entire family after brutal physical and sexual abuse. “I have to meet Eliza at noon so we don’t arrive empty handed at James’ party.”

“Send them my best.” Burr pulled two crumpled bills from his pocket without looking up from the file. “Get the boy something nice, it may be the last birthday he spends with his brother.”

Alex had little to say to that. He opened the next case. Larry Swartz, two counts of first degree murder. Sarah Johnson, two counts of first degree. Lyle and Erik Menendez...

He met Eliza at noon, and together they picked out some lego sets. He had no idea what nine year olds played with these days, but he had several fond memories of making elaborate structures of out lego as a kid. They had it wrapped in the store, and upon arriving at the Chuck E Cheese placed it on the table with the other gifts.

“Thank you for coming.” Martha shook both their hands, her smile wan but genuine.

“No problem,” Eliza said warmly. “If there’s anything else we can do for you and your family, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Bring my brother home,” Martha said, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not going well, I just-” She glanced over, to where John was being pressed into a game of manhunt with the kids.

“It’s not over yet,” Alex told her gently. But inwardly he wasn’t so sure. Without something else, some new piece of evidence, the trial was unlikely to go in their favour.

“I just want him to stay with us,” Martha said. “We need him. As far as the kids are concerned, he’s more their parent than their actual father was. And I’m-” _not even finished high school. Staring down the years of struggle it would be to raise three children alone._

“Anything we can do for you,” Eliza repeated.

“Thank you.” Martha inclined her head, then moved away to manage the small but rowdy crowd James Laurens had assembled for his birthday: a group of nine year olds, his two siblings, two older girls that looked like they may have been friends of Martha’s, and Lafayette, leaning against the far wall with with a look of mild horror.

“Have you seen this pizza?” he demanded the moment Alex made his way over. “I think it is more grease than bread. And there is a lot of bread. Who eats this much crust?”

“Nine year olds.”

“I am ordering the salad,” Lafayette huffed. “Your coworker isn’t joining us?” There was the slightest edge to his voice, but Alex couldn’t tell if he was hoping for an affirmative or not.

“Wasn’t invited,” he said instead. “He’s working on the case.”

“The case,” Lafayette sighed. But instead of talking about it he just said, “We’d best enjoy the freedoms we have left, despite the unfortunate food choices,” and ambled back towards John.

Alex had never been inside a Chuck E Cheese before, so he watched the proceedings with interest. There seemed to be an indoor playground and an arcade, the latter of which was occupying the boys. Martha had been pulled away by her two friends and Eliza, and they were all chatting by the prize counter; Alex was glad to see her have something normal for once.

“They look like they’re all having fun,” he commented idly.

“In all their cheese encrusted glory,” Lafayette snorted.

John just smiled, idly tossing a token from the arcade and catching it.

“Come on, Hen! Move over, Kaylin!” Jem shouted, racing past his friend and into the games area. Alex smirked, turning just in time to catch the look on John’s face as he watched his brothers play. 

The smile on John’s face nearly knocked the wind out of him. For a man who was about to go to prison for twenty five years, John looked strangely content as he watched his brothers play. Alex was reminded again of how much joy John seemed to get from his family, and how protective he was of them.

Suddenly a shiver ran through him. Alex looked back to the kids. Jem was playing an arcade game now, surrounded by the friends here to wish him a happy ninth birthday.

He looked at John. John, whose father began abusing him when he was nine.

John turned, frowning slightly at the expression on Alex’s face. “What-” he stopped, reading the knowledge on Alex’s face. His face crumpled. He gave one slow, steady nod, then jerked his head that Alex should follow him outside.

They slipped out a side door into the alley, staring at one another. “My father…” John started, then stopped. He brushed his thumbs across the knuckles of one hand rhythmically, distractedly. 

“John…”

“No. My father, he- he-” without warning, John whirled around and punched the wall. Alex flinched at the dull thud, but John leaned into it, pressing his fist against the brick for a long moment with his eyes closed. “I think my father was bad for a long time. I think he abused my mother, and she protected us. And then she died, and he started hurting me.”

Alex took a breath, completing the thought. “And then you went away to college, and he started hurting your brother.”

John hit the wall again. In the brief second when he pulled his hand back, Alex saw blood on the brick. “John-”

“Shut up.” It wasn’t heated but firm, the words short and clipped as John let out a shudder. “I can’t- can’t talk about this.”

“John this is your life,” Alex pleaded. “You will go to prison if we don’t-”

“You’re wrong,” John cut him off. “It’s not my life. It’s his. I don’t- I _won’t_ drag his name into it any more than I have to. News cycles fade, in a few years no one will connect their names to the kid who killed his own father. Especially if the court case is open and shut.”

So he was protecting his brother. A motive that explained more and more, now that Alex thought it through. So he said, “Okay,” trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible.

“What?” John looked up, shocked. “Okay?”

“It’s your case,” Alex said simply. “This is your life. We work for you, if this is really what you want to do? You can do it. I won’t push you.” 

John was still looking at him uncertainly, warily. So Alex sat down, on the cold concrete and said, “You might as well walk me through it. No one else has to know if you don’t want them to.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“You’re over eighteen, he’s dead, and there is no risk of further crimes being committed… right?” _Please let there be no further crimes_ , the Laurens family had suffered enough.

“Right,” John nodded, trembling slightly. He slid down the brick until he was at Alex’s level, propped up on his knees. “I went away to school. I thought that was it; I was free. I didn’t chose my major but it was fine. I had a house on campus, I had a boyfriend. I was going to have a _life_.”

Alex could see it, in his mind’s eye - John young and wild and full of a new hope in his life. “And then you went home on spring break.”

“I wanted to see Martha, and the kids. I thought I could handle whatever he was going to throw at me. And it was working; we avoided each other. The house was big enough for that. He did split my lip though, when I told him I was gay.” He said it so casually, as Alex tried not to wince. “I guess he got pissed enough to change the will. I don’t care, I never wanted any of his money. He could keep it.”

“And then? On the morning of the 16th?” The day Henry had been murdered.

“We went to the museum, all of us. I guess he thought the kids needed a little more supervision than Martha and I, or he was feeling paternal for once. We all went. And I saw-” John sucked in a breath, fighting to hold on to his even tone. “I saw him reach out and grab Jem, when there was no one else around. You have to understand, he always ignored those kids, Martha and I raised them and- I saw Jem pull away, and I saw him frown. I knew. I knew what he was going to start doing.” 

Getting the words out seemed to calm him. John had shifted on the ground, from kneeling to sitting with his hands around his knees. It made him look oddly vulnerable as he recounted his tale of murder. “I watched both boys all the rest of the day and evening. I wasn’t going to let him get that close again. But I knew it wasn’t going to stop, then, no matter what I did to protect them…

“It was very fast. I told Martha to take them all upstairs, so they wouldn’t have to see anything. I put the arsenic in his tea. It was something I used to daydream about when I was a kid and he was hurting me. I’d gotten some a while ago and hid it in the house. I gave it to him, watching him drink. Then I made sure he was dead and called the police.”

Then he had been arrested, and Alex had walked into his life. 

“I told myself it didn’t matter,” John said quietly, looking at the ground. “That it was okay, whatever happened to me, because… well, I wasn’t going to have a normal life anyway. But if he wrecked it for me, I wasn’t going to let him ruin Jem’s life too. That was what mattered.”

“And that’s why,” every word felt thin, hollow, “you refused to say anything so no one would connect your siblings any more than they had to.”

John nodded miserably. “I just wanted it to be over. Let me go to prison, kill me, whatever. I did it. I knew what was going to happen. But don’t let those kids spend the rest of their lives as the kids who were abused by a supreme court justice.”

Alex hesitated. He has to proceed very, very carefully. "Is that what you want, now? Is that what they want? Or would they rather have you at home, taking care of them, even if it meant the world knew why?"

"The world already knows." John spat on the ground. "The world already has the rumours, once they have the testimony they're going to run with it-"

"They know your father was physically abusive, not about... the other bit," Alex finished awkwardly. "And they know nothing about it in context to James Laurens. I didn't know, until now."

"It doesn't matter, does it?" John growled. "It's enough! They can put it together, they can guess, they can find out."

"They won't find out anything from me." Alex held both hands up. "Look. If you don’t want to have a big trial, and are willing to go to jail for the rest of your life? I will talk to Jefferson tomorrow about a guilty plea. If you want to try and go for a deal, we keep poking holes in the state's case and maybe you get intentional manslaughter." He left the sentence unfinished, hanging there.

John looked up, eyes burning. "And if I want to tell the truth?"

"Then you tell the truth," Alex said simply, "and we stand a chance of getting you home to your family. An acquittal. It won't be easy, and it's not guaranteed. And even if you lost you'd still almost certainly get manslaughter. I'm not telling you what to do," He reminded John. "I know what I want. But this is _your_ life, and at the end of the day it's choices you're going to have to live with."

John scrubbed a hand over his face, roughing up his curls. "I don't know," he said. "Everything is so muddled. I thought I knew what I wanted, what was best... maybe he hit me in the head one too many times."

Alex rested a hand on John's shoulder, the only comfort he dared offer. He was startled when John leaned into the touch like a cat, resting his cheek against Alex's arm. And then he was standing, brushing his pants off briskly. "We need to go back inside. I don't want Martha or Jem to worry."

"Alright."

But as they headed back into the party John flashed Alex a timid smile. It was a brief thing, reflexive, but Alex thought he understood what John didn't feel he could say. _Thank you._ He nodded. 

The rest of the party continued as planned. There was cake cutting, lots of cheering, and spinning the Chuck E Cheese wheel. Alex and Jem went head to head in a game of air hockey, the former complaining bitterly when he lost. John struck the bell on the strong man game and gave all the tickets he won to his brothers.

Finally there was no more cake, ice cream, or greasy pizza to eat; no more games to play; no more tickets to cash in. Jemmy Laurens was smiling wide as Martha and John hauled his presents and winnings up to the car.

"Alex," Eliza said in an undertone, as they watched the Laurens drive away, "please tell me you have some way to save that boy."

"It's up to him," Alex admitted, "but I think so."

She took his hand. "How can I help?"

He started to protest, then considered it. Eliza was ferociously intelligent, and from her charity work probably knew as much about child welfare laws and he did. "Alright," he decided. "But it's long hours, and dreadfully boring." There was little he hated more than combing through old case precedent.

She kissed the back of his hand, his wonderful angel, and smiled. "When do we start?"

Burr was harder to convince.

"You want to base our defense on, I'm sorry, what?" He demanding, pacing back and forth in their office. There were papers strewn everywhere-across both desks, the sofa, the floor - not of it in order.

"Case precedent." Alexander maintained. "It's legit. It's a perfectly acceptable application of the law-"

"But you won’t tell me what it is."

"No.” Burr made a sound of frustration, and Alex shrugged. 

“I am your _partner_ -”

“Who sold his secrets to the opposite side once already!”

“I did that to help our case-” Burr protested, voice already getting heated.

“But you sold his secrets.” Alex just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter why. You did the one thing he didn’t want us to do. If John decides to go public, it’s _this_ decision. I won’t take that away from him.”

They looked at each other for a long, long moment. Finally Burr said, “What do you need?” in a flat voice.

“Anything you can find on battered wife syndrome, battered child syndrome, and murder in self defense cases. Everything.”

“Alright. We start tomorrow.”

Alex tossed and turned that night. He dreaming of John behind bars, John in chains, John curled in a corner of his cell as Alex approached. But when he reached through the bars he phased right through them, and was suddenly in the cell. 

In his dream, John looked up at him with weeping eyes. “You too?”

_I didn’t do anything_ , Alex wanted to say. _I’m not guilty_. John slowly turned his head towards the door, where Alex saw a plaque.

_John Laurens: Guilty of murder_

_Alexander Hamilton: Foster child. Failure. Fraud._

_Guilty. Guilty. Guilty._

Alex screamed in the dream as a shadow approached. The shadow turned into his old social worker, who began to chase him and hit him with the metal end of a garden hose. He woke with a shout, scrambling for a moment before he regained sense.

“Alex?” Eliza murmured beside him.

The clock read 5:48am. _I’m not going back to sleep to do that again._ “Time to start the day,” he told her. She snuffled, groaned, and blinked an eye open at him.

“Must we?”

“You wanted to help,” he reminded her. “Unless…”

She shoved him with one foot. “Yes I want to help, I’m getting up.” Even if it took her three times as long to get out of bed.

But they made it to the office just in time, and greeted Burr with tense smiles. The three of them were just settling in when John arrived, his sister at his side.

“I want to talk to you,” he said abruptly to Alex, slamming himself down into one of the chairs, thankfully one that wasn’t covered in papers. Martha stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Her face was streaked with tears.

“We’ve been doing a lot of talking,” she said, “as a family.”

Alex ignored Burr and Eliza’s puzzled looks. He just turned to John, waiting.

“I told them,” he said, looking at the ground. “Everything. About my dad, about Jem- everything.” Martha squeezed his shoulder. “We talked about what to do, all of us.”

When he lifted his head to meet Alex’s eyes, there wasn’t a shred of doubt there.

“If it’s at all possible,” John said, “we want to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, I did play fast and loose with some legal precedent. While what Alex is attempting is _technically_ possible.... it's not something I'd bet on. All the cases mentioned are real though, as are the details. 
> 
> In the meantime you can find me [on tumblr](thellamaduo.tumblr.com) and come chat with me there because I like friends. Or leave a comment, 'cause external validation makes the writing slog easier.


	10. The Trial (Defense)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic descriptions of child abuse and a brief mention of suicidal feelings
> 
> It should also be noted that this fic, while well-researched, is a work of fiction and I played fast and loose with a lot of court procedure. Mostly because real court would make a poor story. 
> 
> Thank you always to Oaxara, who beta'd this like a superhero so I could have it out as soon as possible.

The next few days were torture. The trial dragged on, Jefferson pulling out inconsequential witness after inconsequential witness to testify about the minutiae of the Laurens’ lives. There was nothing for Alex to do but grit his teeth and take potshots, hoping for a hit.

He scored only one, against the specialist who’d conducted the autopsy. Just a quick question, one that cast doubt on her assertions that Henry Laurens had taken the tea from someone he trusted. He’d argued that trust was outside the realm of what an autopsy would show, and Washington sustained it. 

It was something. Mostly, he sat beside Burr and tried not to brood. Every night they combed through cases and precedents, drafting arguments back and forth until neither lawyer could see a hole in them.

“It still may not be enough,” Burr cautioned. “Even with all of this. It’s a shaky precedent.”

“I know.” He just didn’t want to hear it. Let them have _justice_ , just this once. For a scared young man that could have been him, could have been Burr, could have been anyone.

“I don’t know if Washington will go for it. His track record-”

“I know.

“Friends with Jefferson-”

“I _know,_ Burr!” He dropped the book he was holding onto the table. “I know. But we have nothing else. We just have to hope that Washington knows the difference between justice and the law. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home to my wife.”

Eliza was the one bright spot in everything. They spent more time talking than they ever did; at the dinner table, at night tucked into bed, walking in the woods hand in hand.

“I do want a family,” he said to her one night, safe in the embrace of her arms. “I want a large family. I want everything with you, Eliza.”

She kissed his neck, sweetly brushing his hair aside. “I love you too. But kids do take time, especially adopting-”

“I want to make time,” he vowed. “Eliza… I’m not sure if we’re ready to deal with kids who need as much help as I did when I was in the foster system. But maybe we can make sure a kid doesn’t get to that point. Give them that much, at least.”

“I think that’s a very good plan.”

Finally, after two more days of testimony, Jefferson stood up and declared, “The prosecution rests, your honour.”

“Very well. The defense may make its opening statement.”

Alex stood, walking slowly to his place to face the jury.. This was the moment he relished - stepping in front of a jury with nothing but his words, striking out against an unjust prosecution. This time, Alex intended to draw blood. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. This is not a case about law, though we are in a courtroom today. This is a case about justice. This is a case about a young man protecting his family from a monster, and being prosecuted for it. John Laurens acted in self defense when he killed Henry Laurens, and the defense will prove that to you today. He acted as a last, desperate measure to protect his family, vulnerable children too young to protect themselves. 

“You have heard the prosecution’s views. They claim that this young man murdered his father only once he stood to gain nothing from it. He had no inheritance to gain, no position to win, no insult to avenge. He was free and clear, away at university. He returned only to protect his younger siblings, to protect them from their father. You will hear some horrible things about Henry Laurens today. Things the prosecution doesn’t want you to hear, because Mr. Laurens was a supreme court justice. A member of the court. But even the most powerful men can be monsters.

“John Laurens acted in self defense, protecting himself and his family from a relentless, vicious, violent abuser. A man who had seriously injured his children before. His family is grateful, and they want their brother to come home.

“Today I am asking you to focus on what is right. The law is on the defendant’s side as much as it is his opponents, so today we ask you to consider justice. To stand in this room and witness what was done, what was allowed to be done, and to pass judgement on the only person courageous enough to put a stop to it. The only verdict in this case is Not Guilty.”

“Your honour, objection!” Jefferson was on his feet in a moment. “What is this strategy? Poison is not a weapon of self defense-”

“Your honour, the defendant is entitled to pursue whatever defense he desires. In this case, we believe that our statements are both true and backed up my precedent.”

Washington looked thoughtful. Alexander tried not to hold his breath. This would be the moment that would make them or break them. If Washington told them they couldn’t apply their precedent, they would have nothing.

“The defense and prosecution will approach at a sidebar,” he decided finally. “The jury will recuse themselves while I hear this precedent.”

“George, this is ridiculous.” Jefferson started the moment they approached. “Arguing self defense for murder requires the defendant to be in immediate, lethal harm. John Laurens was not in immediate and lethal harm when he poisoned his father.”

“Your honour, we believe that the immense, horrific, and longstanding abuse of John Laurens and his siblings resulted in a constant threat of immediate and lethal harm. There is precedent.” Burr dropped his papers on the table. “In State vs. Janes the court recognized a ‘battered child defense’ and ruled that it would be in error if the court did not hear arguments for it. State vs. Nemeth overturned a murder conviction on the grounds of having such testimony excluded.”

It was a warning to Jefferson: if his arguing to exclude testimony was granted, the defense would have a good chance at winning on appeal. One Jefferson was unlikely to want to give them. Still, he picked one one of Burr’s files and examined it contemptuously. “This is twenty five years old!”

“And still valid,” Alexander answered sharply.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jefferson smiled as though his teeth were daggers. “Self defense still requires the obligation to retreat.”

“Again,” Burr said calmly. “We believe we have sufficient evidence and precedent to back up our claims.”

“At least we’re not bringing in jailhouse snitches,” Alex added to Jefferson in an undertone too low for the judge to hear.

Washington was considering. “I rule to allow the defense’s testimony. It may be unusual, but-” he held up a hand to silence Jefferson, who had already opened his mouth, “but valuable for the jury to hear while they deliberate. We will bring the jury back in, and then the defense may call its first witness.”

Burr waiting until every jury member had filed back to their places. Then he stood. “Your Honour, the defense calls Theodosia Prevost to the stand.”

Theodosia walked into the courtroom with all the grace of a queen. Her box braids were pulled up in a professional updo, and she wore a smart navy suit; the very picture of a young professional.

“State your name for the court.”

“Theodosia Bartow Prevost, soon to be just Theodosia Bartow.”

“Mrs. Prevost, what is your relationship to the defendant?”

“I lived in the house beside his for almost ten years, since marrying my husband.” The answers were quick, composed. Burr had obviously used some of their time together to actually work on the case.

“And in that time, did you get to know him well?”

“Oh yes,” Theodosia said. “John and his sister would come over all the time, trying to stay out of the house.”

Burr was quick to follow up on it. “Did they tell you why they wanted to stay out of the house?”

Theodosia shook her head. “Not outright, but you pick up on things. John didn’t get along with his father, there was a lot of anger in-”

“Objection!” Jefferson snapped, leaping to his feet. “The witness is speculating!”

“Sustained,” Washington declared. “Mr Burr, please control your witness.”

“Mrs. Prevost,” Burr didn’t miss a beat, “how would you describe the relationship between John Laurens and his father, based solely on the things you witnessed?”

Theodosia hesitated for just a moment. “Cold,” she said finally. “There was a bitterness there, even though he never said it outright. You could tell in all the things he didn’t say. When John went away to school, I thought that was the last I’d see of him. I didn’t think he’d come back.”

“But he did.”

“Yes, he came back.”

“Mrs. Prevost, can you read the document labeled ‘Exhibit A: Police report for the evening of March 15th.’”

She did, moving speedily through the report of a domestic disturbance at the Laurens house. Alex chanced a look at the jury; they looked intrigued. This was not information that had been brought up by the prosecution. 

“Mrs. Prevost,” Burr asked when she was through, “is this information correct?”

“Yes, that is how it happened.”

Jefferson stood, ready to object. Before he could, Burr asked his next question.

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I was there. I like to water my garden before bed, and I heard them arguing through the fence.” Jefferson sat back down, looking furious but unable to object as she continued. 

Burr ran her through the argument, pressing her to remember details and exact wording. John stating that he was dating a man, Henry asking if John blamed him for being gay, John’s final declaration, and Henry’s slap.

“Yes,” Theodosia nodded, tears in her eyes. “That’s what he said. ‘You won’t touch me again.’”

“And did you, at the time, understand this as a confession of sexual abuse? You filed no police report.”

“I don’t know.” She looked down. “I didn’t know what to think. Henry Laurens was a supreme court justice, and my husband works in politics. It was hard to… You wonder if you misheard, you know? It something was wrong, even when all the evidence is staring you in the face.” She looked up, teary but determined. “My husband is divorcing me because of this trial, because I am speaking for the defense. I’m losing everything. But I can’t stay silent.”

Burr nodded slowly, and Alex could see some of the jury nodding with him. _Good._ “And Mrs. Prevost, you have never had any doubt in John Laurens?”

“In John himself? None. Never. He would never do something like that without a very good reason. He loves his family.”

“No further questions, your honour.” 

Burr sat down, and Jefferson stood up. Alex had to bite the inside of his cheek. _He’s going to cross examine her, after that?_

“Mrs. Prevost,” Jefferson started, sounding like the haughty aristocrat he wished he was. “How far away is your garden from the Laurens house?”

“My garden?” She looked bewildered.

“The garden that you were in when you supposedly heard this argument. How far away from the Laurens house would you say it is? Just an estimate.”

“Maybe twenty, thirty feet? The properties are fairly large.”

“And is there a fence marking the property line? Hedges?”

“A wooden fence.”

“A tall one?”

“Objection, your honour.” Burr stood smoothly. “This has nothing to do with my line of questioning.”

Washington sustained it. “Move on, councilor.”

Jefferson looked down at his notes, then nodded. “Thirty feet and a hedge, and you heard their conversation with a remarkable degree of clarity.”

“It was a loud argument. Raised voices. I didn’t have any trouble hearing them, or the sound of Henry hitting his son.”

“And yet, you wondered if you misheard.” The doubt in his voice was plain.

Theodosia held firm. “I didn’t mishear,” she said firmly. “I only wished I could have, because what I did hear was so unpleasant and because it compelled me to act.”

Another look at his notes. From the angle Alex was sitting at, he could see that the page was blank. “Mrs. Prevost, when you heard John’s words about his father having contact with him, did any other meanings occur to you? It seems a little vague to me.” _Very vague_ , his tone seemed to imply.

“Yes,” Theodosia admitted.”But I discounted it in favour of the explanation that made the most sense, even if it was one I didn’t want to believe it. John was being abused by his father.”

“Could his phrasing, ‘you will never touch me again’, have referred to physical abuse only? Or to contact with him in the general sense?”

“When people use the phrase _touch me_ they usually mean-”

“Answer the question, please,” Jefferson said shortly. Alex was read to leap up and object for badgering, but Burr stayed cool. After a moment Theodosia answered.

“Yes, I suppose. But I don’t think it’s likely.”

Jefferson turned to the judge. “No further questions, your honour.”

Burr had only two questions on the redirect.

“Mrs. Prevost, you mentioned that sexual abuse would make the most sense, can you elaborate on why you believe that?”

“Well, just the things you’re supposed to watch out for. John got real quiet when his mom died. I blamed grief, but abuse would also make sense. And the fact that John tried to stay out of the house as much as possible, and the fact that his father attacked him that night.”

Burr nodded. “And did you, in your years knowing the family, ever see evidence of his siblings being abused? Martha, James, Henry Jr, or Mary?”

“No.” Theodosia shook her head. “I did not.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Prevost. No further questions.”

She gave him a lingering look on the way out the door, and Alex tried to suppress a smile. It was a good opening move. 

He stood. “The defense calls Louis de Manoel de Vegobre to the stand.” The witness was their expert on child abuse and complex PTSD. He took the jury through theories of trauma with a powerpoint, explaining how the kind of trauma that John grew up with could influence him. 

“And is it, in your expert opinion, possible that John felt he and his siblings were in clear and immediate danger?”

“Oh, very easily.” De Vegobre was an odd man, ashy and tittering, but the ‘scruffy genius’ vibe seemed to be working well with the jury. Alex saw one young woman nod. 

“And what is the likelihood, in your expert opinion, that Henry Laurens would have reoffended with one of John’s siblings? Say, one of his younger brothers?”

“Quite likely, I should think.” He nodded, ponderously. “Yes, very likely. When you see this kind of pattern, it is representative of a serial abuser. I would not be surprised to learn that there were more victims, not surprised at all.”

“So taking immediate action to defend them would be a very reasonable thing to do?” That was the important question, Alex knew. They needed to prove that not only did John feel immediate and serious danger, but that a ‘reasonable person’ would feel the same. “If his father was likely to begin physically and sexually abusing another member of his family.”

De Vegobre blinked owlishly. “I cannot condone murder, but- yes. A reasonable person in his position could be supposed to do the same.”

That took them to lunch. Alex, on his way out of the courtroom, passed Burr and Theodosia conferring. “Court resumes at one,” he reminded Burr, resisting the urge to inform him of the closest hotel. Theodosia had been brave, that was undeniable, but she had certainly not lost _everything._

After lunch, the testimony moved on. A legal scholar testified about their defense, proclaiming to the jury that should they agreed with the defense's reasoning, then John Laurens would be considered not guilty. Burr questioned a few more experts about details on their case, brief testimonies that merely held up their theories. Then it was time for the heavy-hitters. 

“Your honour, the defense has two witnesses left. However, John Laurens’ testimony will be lengthy so we propose to begin Martha Laurens' testimony today and carry John's over until tomorrow.”

“Granted.” Washington didn’t even think about it. “Call your next witness, councilors.”

Burr declared, “The defense calls Martha Laurens to the stand.” She was pale and drawn, but still had a quiet dignity as she was sworn in. John, sitting beside Burr, watched quietly.

Alex, knowing both Martha and John much better than Burr, was leading both their testimonies. He looked her right in the eye and said, "State your name for the court."

"Martha Ramsey Laurens," she declared, strong and steady.

"What is your relationship to the defendant?"

"He's my brother." She cleared her throat. "My older brother."

"And Henry Laurens was your father."

"Yes."

"Martha, please describe your relationship with John."

"He protected us." Her voice, starting so strong, had dropped off almost to a whisper. "John and I... we have three half brothers and sisters, they're much younger and their mom's not around. John and I raised them."

"Not your father?" Alex let his voice betray only polite incredulity, as if he'd never witnessed neglect, as if he'd never been neglected and raised by older children in the house. 

"No." Martha shook her head. "After my mom died, he lost a lot of interest in things. He started drinking a lot, and-" She stopped. Alex looked over at Burr.

The look in his eyes and the nod of his head was clear. _Patience_. 

Alex waited her out. "What happened when your father started drinking, Martha?"

"He got scary." She said it quietly, but that whisper hit the jury more powerfully than a scream. "He threw things, raged."

"And what did you do, when your father was drunk and raging?"

"We hid. John would put us in the bathroom and tell us to lock the door, pass me books to read to the children while we waited for it to pass. He protected us."

"He protected you," Alex repeated. The words were metallic on his tongue. "Did he ever protect you from abuse, Martha?"

"I think so. I saw dad hurt him, many times. Usually just hitting, but- I saw him hit John with the end of a garden hose once. It was awful."

"Awful how?" He was intent on getting every last detail out of Martha Laurens. Rake the truth over the jury like knives, until they were begging for a precedent to set John free. Besides, every detail Martha recounted was one less he'd have to get from John. John, who looked furious that Alex was making his sister cry.

She was crying now, on the stand, tears streaming down her face. "H-He didn't even scream. Just took it. And dad d-didn't stop just kept _hurting_ him-”

"Objection!" Jefferson shouted.

"On what grounds?" Washington demanded. Alex turned furiously to his opponent, waiting.

"These details are not relevant to the case! He seeks to paint the victim, who is not on trial here, as some kind of monster-"

"If the truth paints Henry Laurens a monster, that is not the fault of the court, your honour," Alex fired back. "This evidence to the relationship between defendant and victim is vital to the defense and to not hear it would rob John Laurens of justice."

Washington gave them both a look, before turning his eyes to the prosecution. "He's right, councilor. Your objection is overruled."

"Well!" Jefferson burst out, desperate. "The defense is browbeating a witness, forcing her to recount traumatic memories-"

Alex was ready with a retort, but before he could jump in Martha spoke.

"May I answer?" It was quiet, her searching eyes fixed on the judge's stand. "Your honour? May I answer that?"

"It's the councilor's job to argue that," Alex told her. But, to his surprise, Washington nodded.

"You may."

"It's painful, but I want to recount all this. It's important. The world... the world needs to know what my father was. The good and the bad. They need to know that John was protecting us. He always protected us."

Silence greeted this statement. Finally, after a long moment, Washington nodded. "Continue with your questioning, councilor," he directed in a gruff voice.

"Martha, let's switch gears for a moment and talk about the 18th. Can you describe what happened that day?"

"Yes. We went to the museum, the whole family."

"The whole family including yourself, John, your father, and your half-siblings?"

"Yes. We all went together."

"And was that unusual?" Alex asked.

"I guess." A frown appeared between her eyes. "It was the first time we'd all gone out together since John went away to school."

"And what happened at the museum?"

"Not much. They kids played. John and I watched them. Dad too. Sometimes we played with them."

That wasn't what he needed. He needed something that would allow John to corroborate his story of Henry Laurens grabbing nine year old James. "And what about after the museum?"

"After?"

"When you got home. Did you notice any change in anyone's behavior?"

Thankfully she grasped what he was asking. "Yes. John. John was scared."

"Not angry, Martha?" Alex asked, glancing over at the jury. They looked intrigued. 

"No. I've seen John angry before. That night, he was scared. Frightened."

"And what did he do?"

"He came into the room and told me to take the kids upstairs." Her voice shook as she recounted it. "He told me to turn on the television, loud, and to stay there until he came to get us. Only he didn’t." The tears spilled down her cheeks. “The police did. They said that our father was dead and John was being arrested.”

Alex kept his tone gentle. “Martha, where has John been living since he was released on bail?”

She looked up, surprised. “With me. With his family, in our apartment uptown.”

“Have any of your siblings expressed fear or misgivings about John?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever witnessed John behaving cruelly towards a person he had power over?”

“No. John would never.”

“No violence?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Ms. Laurens. No further questions.”

Alex sat and Jefferson took his place, carefully adjusting his violet jacket. “Ms. Laurens, had your brother ever been arrested before the night of the 18th?”

“I-” she glanced over at Alex and Burr, who stared back helplessly. There was nothing they could do. “Yes, he has.”

“And what was he arrested for?”

“S-Shoplifting, once-”

“But that is not all. Martha, isn’t it true that your brother-”

“‘Ms. Laurens’ is fine,” Martha shot back. “And yes, John’s been arrested! He’s had the same scuffles as any kid growing up, especially someone dealing with as much as he was!”

“By ‘scuffles’,” Jefferson said coolly, “I assume you are referring to two arrests, in 2014 and 2015, for assault and fighting.”

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “A scuffle. No one went to the hospital, which made it far less than what was happening at home.”

“And yet we have no reports from you, Ms Laurens. Why is that? Child services were never called, no police were phoned. Why?”

She looked down. “John told me not to tell. He said it would only make things worse, that no one would do anything because dad was a politician and they were the ones who made the laws.”

“Thank you. No further questions, your honour.”

Alex stood as Jefferson finished. “Your honour, a redirect?” 

Washington waved his assent, so Alex stepped back out to address Martha. “Martha, at any point in your life can you remember being afraid of John Laurens?”

To her credit, Martha thought about it.. “No, I can’t.”

“Are you afraid of him now?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I love him more than ever, especially knowing now… what he went through. The things he did to keep us safe. I love John, and I trust him to take care of us. I just want him to come home.” A tear rolled down her cheek. 

Alex waited until it fell. “Thank you, Martha. No further questions.”

That was the end of it, for the day. Alex went home with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, reviewing his statements. As he was handling both key witnesses Burr was taking the closing arguments, and he was thankful at least that he didn’t have to do that. It was hard though, leaving the final strokes of what he’d begun to think of as his case to another lawyer. 

“Are you sure he has to testify?” Martha had asked him yesterday, just as they were leaving the courtroom.

“He does,” Alex had said, albeit reluctantly. John was far from the ideal witness; surly and quick to anger, the prosecution was going to have a field day with him on the cross examination. Worse was the flat affect, his emotions pushed down so far that an outsider might wonder if he had any emotions at all. Which would fit very well into the prosecution’s claims that he was a psychopath, and help their case not one bit.

“The jury needs to hear it from him,” Burr said, settling the matter. “They need to hear why.”

Still, Alex was on pins and needles as John Laurens was sworn in the next day. He was dressed in a fine suit, his hair pulled back, and he even managed not to glare as he took his place to be questioned. 

“State your name for the court.”

“John Laurens.” His voice was low, not as ringing or as powerful as Martha’s, but at least he was speaking. “Henry Laurens was my father.”

“John, how would you describe your relationship with your father?” Alex asked.

John met his eyes, and he didn’t look happy. _Come on_ , Alex thought. _You agreed to this. You wanted to fight._

“He was my father,” John said, each word dragging out of him resentfully. “I loved him. But he hurt me, and he hurt my brothers and sisters, and he was going to hurt Jem.”

“Jem is your brother, James Laurens?” 

“Yes.” 

It wasn’t enjoyable, drawing this testimony out from John. He had to ask pointed questions, clarifying details as he pushed John to recount the horrors of a decade of abuse. He introduced evidence as they went, painting a picture for the jury of exactly the kinds of horrors John had lived with.

As he spoke, Jefferson grew increasingly agitated. His pen tapped out a rhythm on the desk as Alex introduced the photographs of John in the hospital after being stabbed by his father. His hands clenched as Alex produced a pair of child’s baseball pants, and a notarized letter from a DNA analysis stating that the smear of semen on them matched the DNA of Henry Laurens. When Alex brought forward the cut off end of the Laurens’ garden hose and asked John if it was the one his father had beat him, Jefferson rose for a moment as if planning to object. A single glance from Washington made him sit back down.

John, shaking slightly in the witness stand, confirmed that it did look like the piece he had been hit with. His testimony had dropped off as each successive exhibit was introduced, getting quieter and quieter as each secret was dragged out.

Alex hesitated. Part of him wanted to call it a day, to hold the rest of John’s testimony over until tomorrow. But there was no guarantee John would be any more energized, and a break might have the opposite affect on him. He might refuse to testify at all. _Finish it today. Let Jefferson have him tomorrow._

“John, now I want to bring your attention to the night of the 15th.” Alex said, checking the jury to ensure they were following along. Most were watching them, but one woman on the far side was still staring at the metal end of the garden hose with something akin to horror.

“Alright,” John said guardedly. Alex narrowed his eyes. _Work with me_. John looked, for all intents and purposes, like the same sullen kid they’d met in jail almost two months ago. 

“First, let’s talk about why you were there. You attend Columbia, correct?”

“I did, until I was arrested and charged with murder. They expelled me.” His voice was flat, expressionless. Alex decided to push.

“So you were going to school, not too far away, but far enough that you no longer saw your father. Why did you decide to come back?”

John looked at Alex for a long time. Finally, he said, “Martha. She asked me too. And I wanted to see the kids.”

“Why did you want to see them? Did you miss them?”

“I did. But I also-” he cut himself off, then scowled while Alex waited. “I wanted to make sure they were safe. That _that_ ,” he nodded sharply at the exhibits of abuse, “wasn’t happened to them. He always went after me, so I thought they were safe. I was wrong.”

“Tell me about the argument.” Alex said.

John shut his eyes as he recounted. “It started in the kitchen. My father had found out- I don’t know how, someone told him- that I’d changed my major from polisci and dropped most of the required courses for it. He was furious, furious that I wasn’t going into politics. 

“He dragged me outside, and I let him. If he was going to yell, I didn’t want the kids to overhear. And if he was going to hit me, or- or something, I didn’t want them to see that either. I didn’t want to frighten them. But he kept yelling and I started yelling back.

“I knew he was going to hit me. I was waiting for it. And when it didn’t come I told him I didn’t want to be like him, that I would never be the person he is. That I was dating someone, dating a man. That I’d moved away and he was never going to touch me again. That’s when he finally hit me.”

“And when did you find out that Henry had cut you out of his will?”

John shrugged. “Right after he did it. He came home in a foul mood. I was in the den with Mary, watching Dora, and he stopped by to tell me that no son of his would be gay.”

“And how did you feel, hearing that?”

John’s gaze locked on Alex. “I was grateful. I never wanted to be his son, never wanted to touch his filthy money. For all I care, he can be buried with it.”

Alex swallowed. The statement, while convincing, was going to be a lot for the jury to take. He saw a few frowns from the jury as he continued. 

“And then we come to the day of the 18th. Can you tell me what happened on the museum trip?”

“We all went,” John answered uncertainly. “Me, Martha, Dad, and the kids. I had been avoiding my father - I wanted to go back to school, to get away. But I had to wait out the break, I didn’t want to leave the rest of my family.”

 _Not enough._ "Earlier," Alex began, "your sister described you as frightened when you got home. Is this correct?"

John hesitated for a long moment. "Yes," he said finally. 

"What frightened you?"

"At the museum..." John's voice trailed off. "It was inside a model of an Indian cabin. I was looking for Jem. I looked inside, and my father had a hand around his wrist. Jem tried to get up, and my father pulled him back. Then he saw me and let go, like he was ashamed."

"And you took this to mean that your brother was in danger of being abused?"

"I knew what it meant. He'd never touched Jem that way before, not what I was at home. He wouldn't dare. But I was gone, and he found someone new to prey on." They had decided, pretrial, to keep John's suspicions about his mother out of it. They didn't have time to dig up decade-old proof, and it wasn't relevant to getting John freed.

"If you suspected your father was abusive, why not tell someone? Why not let your siblings tell someone?"

"Because no one would believe us," John said bluntly. "Henry Laurens, supreme court justice? They'd never take our word against his. And he told me..." John looked sick. "One night, he told me that if anyone did believe me I'd end up worse off anyways. That we'd all be taken away and put in foster case, and that everyone knows foster care is full of people who like to hurt kids. That we'd be split up, too, so I wouldn't be able to protect them anymore."

Alex's stomach rolled. _Control,_ he thought, _control._ He wasn't a foster kid right now, he was a lawyer. He was the person protecting John Laurens. "Did you ever try? To tell?” In his own mind's eye he could see his own fruitless attempts. No one cared what children had to say. No one looked twice as long as they were being fed and sent to school. 

"Once. When I was in the hospital, after he stabbed me. They brushed me off, said that I'd had too many painkillers, that I was blaming him for my 'accident'. One nurse said that if I kept saying these things, they were going to have to examine me all over and call the cops, and I didn't want that. I didn't want them to take my family away."

John's deliver was still not very expressive, but the intensity in his voice could not be denied. Every word rang true.

"And you tried to retreat, yes?" Alex pressed.

"Yes. I tried to stay out of the house as much as possible. And as soon as I was old enough, I went away to school."

"But that didn't work, because your leaving put your brother in danger."

"Yes."

"Okay, John." Alex resisted the urge to pace. Pacing did not look good in front of the jury. "Let's continue on to the evening. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I told Martha to bring the kids upstairs, turn the television on loud, and stay there. She knew it was for their protection, so she did it. I made tea, and- there was arsenic in a small hiding place in the kitchen. It's been there for years. I used to think about... what I would do with it."

"To poison other people?" Alex asked carefully.

John shook his head. "Sometimes. What kid doesn't think about getting back at someone who hurt them? But mostly I thought about taking it myself. To just have it be over." His voice was steady, but Alex could see the pain setting deep lines into his forehead. 

"Alright. Please continue."

"I put the arsenic in the tea and brought it to him. He drank it and died, it- it was over quickly.. I wanted it to be over quickly, I just wanted it to be over. And then I called the police."

Alex requested, and got, permission to play the tape again. John's voice, desperate and near sobbing.

_He's dead. He's really dead. I'm sorry, I-_

There was a long moment of silence after the tape played. Alex let it linger before he finally said, "John, what was going through your mind when you poisoned your father?"

"That I had to protect my brother."

"Not that you wanted revenge?"

"No. I didn't care, I just wanted him to stop."

"Did you believe that James Laurens could have defended himself?"

"From my father?" John snorted contemptuously. "Jem just turned nine. He had no chance to defend himself."

"Remind the court how old were you when your father started abusing you?"

"I was nine."

"Thank you, John. Now, the timeline from your trip to the death is very short. You seemed to be in quite the hurry."

"I had to be," John said flatly. "I had to protect him. I knew that if I didn't act right away, my father was going to hurt him very badly."

"So you would call your father an immediate threat."

"Yes." 

Alex turned to the judge. "No further questions, your honour."

As he sat down, he tried to give John a reassuring smile. Washington adjourned the court for the day, but John was whisked away before Alex could speak to him. That was understandable, Alex supposed. If he were John's family, he wouldn't want to waste a minute with him. And it wasn't like there was any advice Alex could give him that he hadn't given ten times before.

_You did well. Now keep your temper._

The next day, Jefferson sauntered over to the witness stand like he owned it. "Mr. Laurens, I have a question for you. Have you ever witnessed your father being violent or abusive towards your siblings?"

John glared. "He hit Martha when I was nine. I made sure he never hit her again."

"And how did you do that?" Jefferson asked pleasantly.

Another glare.

"How did you do that, John?"

"I put my body between her and my father. I made sure they were all locked away if he started getting violent. And I stopped fighting him when he wanted... to do other things."

It was a painful thing for him to admit, clearly, but Jefferson paid it no mind. He continued in the same mild tone.

"You say he hit Martha. Did he ever hit James, that you saw?"

"No."

"Did James ever disclose any abuse to you?"

"No." Alex could almost _hear_ John's teeth grinding.

"Did any of the other children?"

"No. I made sure they didn't have to. I want to make sure they had a _normal_ childhood-"

"Answer only the question I asked, please." Jefferson cut him off. "Petition to strike the last sentence from the court record."

"Granted." Washington said, but he wasn't smiling. Alex was surprised at how often the judge had ruled their way, but they couldn’t win everything. "Mr. Laurens, please answer the questions as they are asked."

John glared at him, too. Alex sucked in a breath.

"So Mr. Laurens," Jefferson circled over to the jury, lazily. "You are telling the court that you decided that James was being abused, based on... seeing your father grab him at the museum?"

No answer. If glares were daggers, Jefferson would be dead a hundred times over. "I'm telling the truth."

"Are there any other reasons why your father might have grabbed James?" Jefferson spoke over him.

"Objection!" Alex was up like a shot. "Speculation!"

"Your honour, it is well within the bounds of establishing precedent that the defense council has brought to the table."

"Overruled." Washington said, after only a moment. "The witness will answer."

It had worked though. His interruption had taken the heat off John, allowed the boy to collect himself. He was ready with an answer. "There isn't anything. Henry Laurens didn't care about those kids, he didn't spend a moment more with them than he had to. Martha and I took care of them. I knew. There was no doubt. I knew."

Jefferson hesitated. Alex could see him weighing the options: keep pushing and hope he loses his temper? Or be content with the hits he scored? Jefferson went with the latter.

"Your honour, the prosecution has no further questions."

"Very well. Councillors?" Washington turned to the defense.

"Your honour," Burr spoke for both of them. "At this time, the defense rests."

"Very well. Do we have any objections to going into closing arguments? There is time to finish this today." 

Alex nodded grimly. Their final statements, and then John's fate would be left in the hands of the jury. He was confident they wouldn't get a maximum sentence, there was too much doubt, but an acquittal was a thin hook to hang their hopes on. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury," Jefferson said grandly. "Today's case is simple. Open and shut. John Laurens committed a murder - he confessed to it on the stand! You have heard the testimony of many people-"

"Good job," Alex whispered as John retook his place. He got a shaky nod in return, but under the table a hand latched on to his. 

"-and Henry Laurens is not on trial here. His son his. A son who poisoned him in cold blood. Motive doesn't matter. What matters is that John Laurens is guilty, and should be condemned as such.”

And then it was Burr’s turn. He spoke in simple fashion, reminding the courts of case precedent and how the concepts of a battered child defense could be applied to the case. “Yes, John did wrong. He killed his father. But he did it as a last resort, to protect himself and to protect those who could not defend themselves. John Laurens is innocent of any criminal culpability, by reasons of self defense. Today we ask the jury to consider what is the law, what is right, and what is justice. Thank you.”

Outside, Martha hugged John as tightly as she could. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah,” John huffed. “Just don’t make me do it again, alright?”

“You won’t have to do it again,” Alex promised. “For better or worse, it’s over. It’s out of our hands now.”

“You did so well.” Martha hugged him too. “You and Mr. Burr, you’ve both done so much for us-”

“It’s my job,” Alex said awkwardly, disentangling himself from her embrace. “It’s a waiting game now. They’ll let us know when the jury reaches a decision. Spend some time at home.” _In case it’s your last few days of freedom._

They had put up a good fight. But was it enough? The precedent was thin, they had not been able to find a single acquittal on a battered child defense.

“Hey Alex,” John called, just as they left the building. Alex turned, meeting his gaze, and he saw respect there. “Thank you. For- for everything. I won’t forget it.”

Alex just nodded, watching until John and Martha were swallowed up by the throng of reporters on the steps. 

The jury deliberated for days. Alex didn’t see John, but he did get periodic text updates from Martha that John was doing fine. With Eliza at his side, he signed the paperwork to begin the process of fostering a child.

Finally, it was time. They assembled in the courtroom as Washington called in the jury. Alex saw fear flash across John’s face for just a moment, and reached out to squeeze his hand.

“We, the jury, find the defendant-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I'm mean  
> but I'm not that mean because the epilogue will be out next friday
> 
> Sound off in the comments or you can reach me on tumblr at thellamaduo.tumblr.com


	11. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several months later...

They walked together in the forest just outside of Manhattan. Not quite hand in hand - John loped forward and back, disappearing into the brush or around the bend of the train for a few moments before coming back. It was spring; everything was in full bloom.

They were walking, through to where Alex couldn’t say. “Are we almost there?”

“Nearly!” John called. He came jogging back, falling into step with Alex. “It’s just another minute up ahead, you’ll see.”

“I promised Eliza I’d be home by five,” Alex reminded him. 

“One minute,” John promised. “Martha’s expecting me too.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, pointedly glancing down at his watch.

Sure enough, it was considerably more than a minute before the trail opened up into a creek and grassy bank. Someone had pushed several large rocks into position to use as chairs, probably years ago. John sat on one, Alex the other. He waited.

“I still can’t believe it’s over,” John said quietly. 

“The trial was only a few months ago,” Alex was quick to reassure. “It takes time.”

“Not that.” John shook his head, curls bouncing. “It’s over. All of it, everything. He’s dead, I’ve been kicked out of school, I have no inheritance, I’m not going to jail… the good and the bad, all of it’s just… over.”

Two months ago Alex had stood in the courtroom and watched the jury read out a verdict of Not Guilty on all charges. There had been murmurs, curses, and cries from the audience. He had shared a triumphant look with Burr, one with his wife, and then turned to John.

John had looked like someone had smacked him in the face. Startled, a little wary, as if he didn’t trust the words he’d just heard. And then Martha had come running up the aisle and hugged him before Washington reminded her that they had to finish out the proceedings. 

“Well,” Alex, who’d had so many beginnings and ends, could only shrug. “What will you do now?”

A hollow laugh. “Raise my kids,” John said, referring to the young half-siblings that were now both his and Martha’s responsibility. “Count my blessings. Walk in the woods.”

_Be free._ It was a wonderful, joyous thing. It was also a lonely and wild thing. “And after that?” Alex asked. “What do you want to do?”

John hesitated, just briefly. “It’s not likely they’ll let me work with kids, not after this. And I don’t want to go back to school. I think… I’d like to raise dogs. The kinds of dogs that no one else wants.”

“Strays.” Alex nodded. 

“Maybe those aggressive ones no one can handle,” John mused. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. There’s lots of property around here.” He smiled faintly. “Martha’s insisting I share part of her inheritance, as I no longer have my own. I’ll be alright.”

“You’ll be alright,” Alex agreed with certainly. John was one of the strongest men he’d ever known. 

“And you must have had an awful lot of job offers.” John raised an eyebrow. “Burr told me that was the first acquittal on a that kind of defense. Anywhere in the US, he said.”

“Burr got a lot of calls,” Alex corrected him. “I already have a new job.”

“Ah yes. How are those kids?” John asked. He’d gotten up and was now walking around the edge of the creek, restless. 

“Good.” Alex nodded. “Scared, most of ‘em. For a lot of them, it’s their first brush with the criminal justice system. I like being able to help them.” Public defending was worse pay, long hours, and tiring work. He loved every second of it. “Someone threw a basketball at my face yesterday.”

“Oh?” John couldn’t help but smile. “Why did they do that?”

“I suggested that they needed to work on their problem-solving skills.” Alex grinned. “He didn’t like that answer.” 

They passed another half hour like that, Alex telling stories of the kids he was working with and John telling stories of Mary, Jem, and Hen.

Finally, the shadows started to lengthen and Alex stood. “I’ve got to get home.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” John offered. “There aren’t buses out here.”

“I know.” The uber cost had not been fun, but it had been worth it to see John. They got a few more stories in during the ride, not into Manhattan, but to a suburb of Brooklyn where the Hamiltons now lived. 

“Say hi to Philip for me,” John said.

“I will. I’ll tell Eliza you’re still coming over for dinner on Sunday?”

John nodded. “Martha’s got the kids.”

“Then I’ll see you then.” Alex gave him a nod, and got a punch on the shoulder in return as he got out of the car. 

“Alex, you’re late!” Eliza called as he walked in the door.

He glanced at the clock by the door. “Two minutes! Two minutes, Eliza!” 

She emerged, blocking the light from the kitchen, spoon in hand and a giggling child hiding behind her skirt. “You know the rules, Alexander Hamilton. Philip, what are they?”

“If pops is late he has to put five dollars into the amusement park jar,” Philip recited dutifully. He was a smart kid, alternating between childish antics and a deep seriousness as he got used to his new home with them.

“Good boy.” Alex said genially, pulling a bill out of his wallet and dropping it in the jar. Philip grinned. “How do we feel about hugs today?”

‘Good’ seemed to be the answer, because Philip ran forward and threw his arms around his foster father. “Glad to see you too,” Alex murmured into his son’s hair. Eliza stepped closer to them, sunlight streaming behind her and turning their son’s hair to gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story. It's the first time I've written off a prompt like that, and one of my first big chapter stories.
> 
> If this story was real and not fiction... John would most likely have gotten a conviction on a lesser charge, manslaughter being the most common one. I am not a lawyer, but I did a lot of research for this case. Nowhere could I find a single acquittal for a case of murder in the face of abuse. Laws are not designed to protect people like John, and every day children and youth go to prison for protecting their families. If you get the chance, please support them.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at thellamaduo.tumblr.com or sound off in the comments.
> 
> Thanks guys.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/), come talk about Hamilton with me.


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